Deathless
by Jeremy Harper
Summary: AU, Complete. A fallen X Man returns, arisen anew in deathless might. Kitty Pryde and the Astonishing X Men struggle to save their transformed friend and thwart the dark powers commanding his allegence.
1. Prologue 1 The Sorcerer Contemplates

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics, and are used without permission.

For OldPrydeFan, though she knows me not.

Prologue One – The Sorcerer Contemplates His Creation

In his hall deep beneath Mother Damp Earth the sorcerer leaned back in his malachite throne and with cold, agate eyes considered the force arrayed in darkling glory before him. His gaze quickly passed over the bandit-troubadour clad in crimson and gold, the great apotheosis of all bears, and the scintillating Chaos Demon before settling on the last of his assembled champions. The sorcerer's thin, black lips peeled back, revealing rotting fangs barred in the mockery of a smile. Fierce, greedy pride welled in his hollow breast as he looked at his son, armed and armored for his first foray into the mortal world. His son, brought to him by fortuitous circumstance, re-forged by his ancient, matchless craft, his penultimate achievement, who would deliver to him his ultimate triumph.

His son stood tall – far taller than an ordinary man, his shoulders broad and his limbs heroic in proportion. A deep-blue great coat wrapped about his body, embroidered with rearing golden dragons, trimmed with sable. Golden serpents on black cloth coiled up his legs. He wore knee-high, hard leather boots, and leather gauntlets encased his large hands. A hood and steel skullcap covered his head and a golden mask, wrought like the face of a beautiful youth, lips curved upwards with a mocking devil's smile, concealed his face. A broad belt, etched with gold and buckled with silver, wound around his hips. A broadsword hung at his left hip, a great knife rested on his right thigh. He stared back at his father with shining, pupil-less, golden eyes, fierce fires burning in their fathomless depths. The sorcerer smiled and nodded at his son. With his son's awesome might, dominion would be theirs.

Behind the sorcerer's champions, the _zahlozhniy_ – the unhallowed dead – stood in neat, precise rows. Clad in filthy tatters, sabers, muskets and axes gripped in their bony fingers, ready to fight, to reave, to slay, they were his army and their numbers were inexhaustible.

The sorcerer rose, lifted his arms in benediction, and spoke, his thin, hissing voice echoing through the silence of the hall. "I have waited five hundred years, and now our time has come. The spheres are aligned, the stars are right, the key calls to me. It is time to begin. I will swallow my doom and set myself beyond all woe." He gestured at his son. "My beautiful creation, my darling childe, you are my eyes and my fist. In the New World, in the city of New York, the first segment of the key awaits, concealed from my sight. Go there, find it, retrieve it. Sweep aside all who oppose you."

His son placed a clenched fist over his heart and bowed his head. His voice was a whisper of thunder. "As you will it, so it shall be done."

The sorcerer settled back down on his malachite throne and prepared to wrench open the gate, his death's head grin gleaming in the faint light.


	2. Prologue 2 Kitty and Wolverine

Deathless

By Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

For OldPrydeFan, though she knows me not.

Prologue Two – Kitty and Wolverine

Kitty Pryde looked out over the lake, watching the water ripple and shimmer as a breeze passed over it. She was lying on her back, her head resting on her arm, her dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail, her eyes half-closed and her lips curved in a reflective smile. Lockheed was curled up on her stomach, purring in his sleep. Kitty scratched behind his horns with her free hand, and considered following his example, the luxurious warmth of the early autumn afternoon lulling her towards drowsiness. She turned her head and looked up into the sky. A few puffball clouds rolled lazily across the light-blue vastness. She closed her eyes and daydreamed of falling upwards, into the sky, free-flying through that gorgeous expanse. A shadow fell across her face. She opened her eyes then grinned.

"Hey Logan."

"Hey Pun'kin. You mind if I join you for a spell?"

"Not at all. We could use the company." She stopped scratching Lockheed momentarily. The little dragon lifted his head, glanced at Logan, yawned, then promptly curled up again and fell back asleep.

Logan smirked and sat down, stretching his legs out. He produced a cigarillo from the pocket of his brown leather jacket, struck a match on the sole of his boot and started to smoke. He and Kitty sat together in companionable silence, watching the lake. They knew each other so well that they felt no need to fill the quiet with needless words.

Logan glanced over at Kitty and smirked again. "You two look cozy."

"It's such a _beautiful_ day," Kitty drawled happily. She wiggled her bare toes in the long green grass. "I've been longing to get outside since early this morning. I nearly decided to ditch my classes."

"Pun'kin, you're a teacher now."

"I know, but where does it say that a teacher can't play hooky every once in a while?" Kitty asked with a grin. Logan couldn't help but snort in good humor. Kitty giggled. "As it is, I should be inside grading some papers, but they can wait 'til evening. Between teaching and working with the team, I haven't had much time to myself. Days like this shouldn't be squandered on anything as mundane as work, if you can help it."

Logan's smile faded, and he looked at Kitty thoughtfully. "How are you holdin' up?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you happy here?"

Kitty did not answer immediately. She sat up slowly, tucking her legs beneath her Indian style. Lockheed grumbled briefly in complaint before settling down in her lap. She stroked his head and neck as she gazed thoughtfully over the lake. She turned her head to Logan and smiled.

"Yeah, I am," she said. "It surprises me, but for the first time in a long time, I _am_ happy. I never thought I'd enjoy teaching so much. The kids are great – they're eager to learn everything I know and more. I'm even enjoying the field work, and that surprises me most of all." She glanced up at the sky, lips pursed. "I'm not doing anything I haven't done before – fly in, take down the baddies, fly away… Wait, I _am_ doing something different. I've never had to field questions from the media." She looked back at Logan. "But even that isn't too bad. After dealing with the likes of Magneto, the Marauders and the War Wolves, paparazzi and investigative reporters are pussycats." She laughed and Logan chuckled. "It feels good to be a superhero, instead of a soldier skulking about out of sight. And, instead of running and running and never getting ahead, it seems like we're actually doing some good for the world."

"I wonder about that," murmured Logan. "I wonder if we're just giving folks more ammunition ta use against us."

"I don't see how. The only negative comments about us I've seen so far have been in the New York _Daily Bugle_, and everyone knows its owner has a mad-on about superheroes. Every other major media outlet I've checked is either neutral or positive. Hell, the _Boston Herald's _acting like we're the second coming of the Avengers."

"Wait 'til something blows up in our face, kid. Wait 'til we're not fast enough to save some child being held hostage, or some gawkin' geek gets fragged in the crossfire. They'll forget all the 'good' we've done right damn quick."

"Gee, pessimistic much?"

"Just a realist." Logan stubbed his cigarillo out against the ground and tossed it away. "I still think Scott's nuts, believin' this will work."

"Maybe he is, Logan, but it isn't like there's a shortage of windmills to tilt at in this world." Logan looked at Kitty sharply, his eyebrows arching. She was leaning back on her arms, smiling softly and staring into the sky. Logan laughed. He laughed long and hard. It was good honest laughter, coming from deep in his belly. "You got a point there, Pun'kin. You got a palpable point indeed." He pulled out another cigarillo and lit it.

"That's a bad habit, you know," Kitty said wryly.

"The advantage of a mutant healing factor – you can enjoy your vices without sufferin' their consequences."

Kitty lay back down. She and Logan fell silent again. After a while Kitty broke it.

"I know bad times will come. They're inevitable. But for now, I'm happy with all this." Her expression became wistful. "I'm happy the way I was when I was thirteen, when I first joined the X-Men."

"Hard days," said Logan, closing his eyes. "For the rest of us, at any rate. But they were ultimately good ones." Silence again.

"It never goes away," Kitty murmured – a statement, not a question.

"No, it doesn't. But it fades some, after a time."

"I know."

"I once heard a quote – I don't remember by who, but I bet Hank would: 'Happiness, too, is inevitable'."

Kitty smiled. "I like that."

Simultaneously beepers hooked to their belts went off. A second later Emma Frost's cool, haughty voice echoed in their heads. _Pryde, Wolverine, suit up. There's a situation in New York._

Kitty groaned. "I just _knew_ this would happen. Why can't supervillains commit villainy on rainy days?"

"Fewer people to show off in front of when it's rainin'." Logan flashed her a grin. "Thought you liked playin' superhero, Pryde.

Kitty stood up, Lockheed cradled in her arms. "I do. I just like it better some days than others. Whoever it is, I'm going to kick their ass hard for making me work on a beautiful day like this."

"Now there's a sentiment I can relate to."


	3. Chapter 1 Raiders

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 1 – Raiders

No one noticed the fire at first. For that, they can be excused; it started small, just a wisp of gray smoke rising from the sidewalk, and Fifth Avenue was bustling with traffic. Over in Central Park people were taking advantage of the fine weather. Across from the park the Metropolitan Museum of Art prepared to shut down for the day. A steady flow of tourists and professionals streamed down the stone steps, heading out for home or dinner. One of them, an attractive middle-aged blonde woman with two children in tow, finally noticed something was amiss. On the bottom landing she stopped and stared at the small tongue of white flame, little less than a half-foot high, issuing from the concrete without any source of fuel. As she watched it grew by a foot and widened. Others now saw it and gawked. It burned with a strange metallic gold color, its core a lambent, bloody crimson. They stared at it in wonder, when suddenly it shot high into the air, becoming a massive pillar of flame ten feet high. People screamed and fled. Car breaks shrieked; collisions reverberated up and down the avenue. The pillar grew higher, then from its apex split and spread open, forming an arch. The space under the arch shimmered and turned stark white, like pane of opaque, frosted glass. From this glass stepped a man.

He was fairly tall, svelte of build, dressed in archaic crimson clothes trimmed with gold and leather boots that reached up to his knees. A saber hung from the golden sash wound around his slim waist. His complexion was fair and his shock of golden hair was an artfully tangled mess. His eyes were twin stones of glittering onyx, and his wide grin was that of a shark who smelled fresh blood.

Two more beings stepped from the flaming portal, and at the sight of them the New Yorkers who hadn't yet fled screamed in terror. The first was a bear, walking on its hind legs as well as any man. It towered twelve feet tall, its muscles sliding tectonic plates beneath its filthy brown fur. It flexed massive paws and sniffed the air, savoring the scent of fear. A crown of horns jutted from the top of its flat skull. The other was an abomination. Its torso was that of a muscular man and its limbs were overly long and sinewy. Giant, raptor-like paws padded against the ground and the palms of its crimson hands were twice the width of a man's skull. Wicked metal talons curved from each digit. Massive, opulent wings were folded against its back. Its neck was serpentine, three yards long, arching above its body and undulating in slow ripples. Its head was a raptor's, with a large hooking beak stained with red patches, and faceted topazes for eyes. Strange, multi-colored slime drooled from its mouth. The slime fell heavily in long drops, changing from red to pink to black and back again, pattering against the concrete, where it hissed and bubbled. The creature surveyed its surroundings, head darting swiftly left and right, then nodded to itself in anticipation, a forked, purple tongue darting out to lick the razor sharp ridges of its beak.

A fourth being stepped through and man, bear and monster made way for him, sketching slight bows of respect. It was the sorcerer's son, resplendent in his raiment, his golden mask glinting as he looked at the museum. In front of the doors museum patrons and employees stared at the burning portal and the creatures lined before it.

"Such wondrous things these mortals make," said the crimson-clad man, gazing at Metropolitan Museum with sardonic admiration.

"Yes," agreed the sorcerer's son. "And soon it will all be ours…" A clattering cacophony rose up behind him as the first of the _zalozhniy_ came through the portal, their bones rattling as they walked, thumbing back the hammers of their muskets, gripping tighter axes and sabers. The sorcerer's son gestured towards the museum doors. "Take twenty hostages. Evict everyone else from my property. Kill no one." The _zalozhniy_ threw back their heads, screamed and charged, a wave of rotting bone flowing around their master and his henchman. Fifty in all surged from the portal, which then collapsed in on itself, vanishing, leaving the sidewalk un-scorched.

The abomination thrust its head towards the sorcerer's son and hissed. "No killing?" it demanded, its voice like a chorus of chiming bells. "Your father promised me blood and souls, Prince of the Earth."

"You will have them in time, Chaos Demon, and in such quantities that even a glutton like you will be sated." The sorcerer's son marched up the steps, his followers close on his heels, the abomination muttering imprecations beneath its breath. At the top they halted. Ten _zalozhniy_ awaited them. They bowed in obeisance. The sorcerer's son looked through the shattered glass doors and nodded in satisfaction. More _zalozhniy_ lurked in the lobby, surrounding cowering men and women. He could sense the rest of them rampaging through the museum's halls, clearing it so he would be undisturbed. "Solovey, Myedvyed Tsar, with me. Vultariax, stay with these _zalozhniy _and deal with the initial incursion of constabulary. Join us when you're through." His golden eyes flashed. "This shouldn't take too long." The abomination bobbed its head. The sorcerer's son entered, followed by the crimson clad man and the bear, which smashed down the doorframes with his passing. Vultariax turned to watch the street, while his _zalozhniy_, all musketeers, arrayed themselves along the steps. Sirens wailed in the distance.

A minute later a multitude of police cars and vans roared to a stop in front of the Met Museum. Policemen in vests took positions behind their cruisers while Special Weapons and Tactics operatives deployed, forming a perimeter around the building. Vultariax watched them with contemptuous serenity. He opened his right hand, closed it tight. The _zalozhniy_ took aim and fired, narrow beams of crimson energy lancing from their muskets. They sliced through the cruisers as if they were paper, dropping two officers. The police returned fire. Their shots had little effect on the _zalozhniy_, merely chipping their hard bones. Another policeman fell, shot through the eye. Finally one of the _zalozhniy_ dropped, his ribcage and spine shattered by a concentrated burst of automatic fire. Its remaining bones disunited and its head rolled down the steps. Another's skull exploded, a lucky shotgun blast blowing it apart. Vultariax hissed in annoyance. He clenched his fist again and two _zalozhniy_ left their post in the lobby to replace their fallen brothers.

The firefight raged on for a full minute before Vultariax ended it. He had been shot several times, the bullets flattening against his body, unable to penetrate the extra-terrene matter of his flesh. They stung though, like hard falling hail, annoying him. He let loose a piercing metallic shriek. The _zalozhniy_ ceased fire and retreated up the steps, lining up in good order in front of the doors while Vultariax stalked towards the assembled police. Their fire hesitated momentarily before concentrating on the Chaos Demon. He plowed ahead, ignoring the volley of bullets striking him until he reached the landing halfway down the steps. He reared back on his crooked legs and unfurled his wings. They spanned out, twenty feet on either side. The police's gunfire stuttered and fell silent as they lowered their weapons and just stared. The wings gleamed brilliantly, an opalescent mosaic of ever-shifting colors. Dancing ruby sigils entranced them; sapphire light lulled them; burning flashes of diamond flame caused their blood to surge euphorically. Vultariax watched as their defenses dropped. He reared back his head. A snoring sound rumbled in his long throat. His wings snapped shut; his head shot forward and from his open mouth blasted a cone of multi-colored slime. It slammed into and over the nearest cruiser, washing over the officers positioned behind it, knocking them down. They lay on the asphalt, stunned, then started to writhe and scream as the Chaos slime seeped through their clothes and into their flesh. Their muscles cramped and spasmed while razors ran through their veins, horrific visions playing out before their bulging eyes. The remaining officers shook out of their stupor and opened fire. Vultariax screamed and vomited a second Technicolor yawn, befouling another cruiser and incapacitating four more officers.

"Hold your fire! Fall back!" the captain in charge bellowed out through his bullhorn. The line of officers retreated towards Central Park. Vultariax watched them go with savage satisfaction. He spread his wings, threw his head up and screamed triumphantly. He turned and climbed up the stairs. "Kill anyone who tries to enter." He ordered the _zalozhniy_ in passing. The unhallowed dead saluted him as he stalked into the museum.

* * *

"They look like refugees from the Army of Darkness," Shadowcat quipped as she watched the visuals the Blackbird was receiving. The X-Men were flying in a holding pattern over 5th Avenue, scouting out the situation with thermal scanners and high-powered cameras. They had arrived scant seconds after the police pulled back to regroup. Below EMTs worked frantically to remove wounded and befouled officers from the scene. The skeletal riflemen watched, but made no move to stop them. 

"Nevertheless, Kitty, they were quite effective in repelling the police," Beast replied.

"Yeah, and that psychedelic Big Bird didn't seem to be a slouch, either."

"Any idea on their identity?" Emma Frost asked.

"The rank and file remind me a bit of the zuvembies Eric Williams has used on occasion," Beast suggested. "But their commander is not one of the Grim Reaper's known associates."

"Let me check the computer for a visual match." Shadowcat typed away for a moment. "Nada. None of the X-Teams have ever run into these guys before. Ditto for the Avengers and the Fantastic Four."

"Wonderful, new playmates," growled Wolverine.

"Part of the job description, Logan," said Cyclops. "Making new friends, beating the hell out of new villains." He frowned at the thermal displays. "Those skeletons aren't showing up. We've got no idea on their numbers or positions."

"Eyewitnesses report at least thirty of them, probably more." Frost supplied.

"Twenty hostages in the front lobby, and no one else in the museum save the metal bird and these three." Cyclops tapped the display.

"They're moving through the museum rather methodically," commented Beast. "They're either looting the place or searching for something."

"The latter, I'm bettin'," said Wolverine. "Anyone using dead men for muscle ain't gonna be pullin' something as mundane as a robbery."

"We'll try to figure out their motivation later," said Cyclops. "Our top priority is freeing the hostages. We'll insert in Central Park. Shadowcat, you and Wolverine circle around to the north. Phase into the lobby and let us know when you're in position. When the opportunity comes take out any guards, hard and fast. Beast, Emma and I will deal with the ones on watch by the doors. Once we get the hostages out we'll have to play it by ear. If there are too many of those things for you to handle quickly let us know and we'll come up with something else."

"Risky, Summers," Wolverine growled.

"I know, but it's best we can do with the limited information we're operating with, and we are good enough to pull it off."

Wolverine grinned. "And we're the best at what we do."

Cyclops smiled back, then tapped the display again. "We'll try to hit it so that we make our move when those four are as far away as possible, giving us more time to take down their henchmen and get the hostages out. Questions or suggestions?" No one answered. "Get ready people, I'm taking her down."

* * *

Like silent wraiths, Shadowcat and Wolverine slipped into the lobby and took cover behind a pillar. Twenty hostages, men, women and children, were clustered together on their knees towards the back of the lobby. Eight skeletons encircled them, one at each compass point. Two had muskets, the rest sabers or axes. Save for the occasion child's whimper or a soft, choked sob, all was silent. 

Shadowcat looked at Wolverine. He ran a crooked thumb across his throat. She nodded, pressed a stud on her belt to signal the rest of the team, took a deep breath and sunk into the floor. Wolverine crouched on his haunches, closed his eyes and counted silently. When he reached ten a pair of slim hands rose out of the ground behind the skeleton on the far side from Wolverine. They encircled its ankles and yanked downwards. The skeleton vanished, swallowed by the polished floor. Wolverine jumped out from behind the pillar. In an eye blink he was on top of the nearest skeleton, his adamantium claws cutting its musket in half and reducing it to a pile of rotting cloth and splintered bones. Shadowcat phased out of the floor, grabbed another skeleton by the arm and disarmed it of its saber. She threw the skeleton, phasing it as she did. It merged with one of its brothers and she released it. A tangled mass of fused bone shattered as it hit the ground. Outside Cyclops' optic blasts shrieked. Musket fire answered.

The surviving five skeletons reacted and fought back ferociously, but in less than ten seconds they were destroyed. A second later Beast, Cyclops and Frost stormed into the lobby, their opposition defeated. "Out! Everyone out! Now!" Cyclops ordered.

"You heard the man, move your asses!" barked Wolverine. En mass the hostages rushed for the doors, Cyclops and Beast ushering them out. Frost moved up to join Wolverine and Shadowcat. Just as the last of the civilians had gotten to the steps the doors at the back of the lobby burst open and skeletons entered. Two dropped to their knees, aimed their muskets and fired. Frost transformed into her organic diamond form and intercepted the shots, reflecting the energy back towards the skeletons. Cyclops returned fire, cutting the two musketeers down. Wolverine roared and charged. The battle began in earnest.

* * *

"Here it is," whispered the sorcerer's son. He was in the northeast wing of the Met, in the midst of an exhibition of Russian religious icons. He was looking at a particular one, depicting Saul consulting the Witch of Endor. Almost reverently he took it from its multi-tiered, black iron iconstasis, holding it between his gauntleted hands as he examined it closely. 

"Are you certain, my _knyaz_?" questioned Solovey.

"Yes. It is concealed within the icon, and shrouded by a cunning obfuscation to prevent precise divination of its location, but it stands naked before close examination."

"Do we depart?" rumbled Myedvyed Tsar, his voice guttural and nearly indecipherable. Before the sorcerer's son could answer, all four beings turned west, towards the lobby. Musket fire echoed through the museum.

"The mortals again," hissed Vultariax. "I shall deal with them. No mercy this time. I hunger for blood and souls." He took a step, but the sorcerer's son raised his hand to check him.

"Something is different." The sorcerer's son's golden eyes flashed. He now peered through the murky eyes of one of the _zalozhniy_. It was in the lobby, fighting desperately to repulse the intruders. There were five of them and were obviously far more than mere police. He saw a tall, svelte man in black leather, his head cowled and his eyes covered by a gold and red visor. He touched a stud on the side of the visor and a red beam of force lashed out to pulverize whatever it struck. Another masked man, short, squat, clad in yellow and black, whirled amongst the unhallowed dead. Metal claws jutted from his fists, cleaving through steel and bone effortlessly. Fighting near him was a hairy blue being, his head leonine, leaping through the fray and displaying great strength and agility, dodging sword, axe and musket blast all without effort. Two women fought by the men's side. One was a tall, regal beauty, her body, intriguingly enough, seemingly made of diamond. No force the _zalozhniy_ could exert harmed her, and she smashed through them with haughty disdain. The second woman was short, slender and delicate of build. She fought with a dancer's grace, her movement like the flow of water. A _zalozhniy_ saber licked out at her, but she did not dodge. The blade passed through her, as if she were a ghost. She lashed back with a palm thrust that knocked her attacker's head off of its shoulders.

Fascinated, the sorcerer's son watched the lopsided fight until the man wearing the visor looked towards him and destroyed the vessel of his clairvoyance with a glance. He blinked and shook his head.

"Who attacks?" asked Myedvyed Tsar.

"Heroes… Intriguing…" The sorcerer's son mused for a moment, set the icon on the iconstasis then rolled up the right sleeve of his great coat. His arm was pale. Around his wrist was a tattooed bracelet of thorns, from which four gently waving thorn vines ran down the muscular curves of his arm. The sorcerer's son held his arm out and cut its underside with his great knife. Golden blood welled from the cut and started to smolder. He clenched his fist, and the blood darkened, turning black. It dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor, where it bubbled and writhed. His spilt blood solidified, sculpted itself, transforming into a great raven the size of an eagle. The sorcerer's son unclenched his hand and the blood in his cut turned back to gold, ignited and evaporated in a burst of flame. All that remained of his self-inflicted wound was a thin red scratch, which quickly faded.

The sorcerer's son rolled up his sleeve, tucking it back into his gauntlet, took Saul's icon and tossed it at the raven, which it caught with a snap of its beak. "Vultariax, accompany this messenger back to my father. Make sure it arrives intact."

The Chaos Demon hissed. "I am no errand boy, Prince of the Earth. I want to kill."

"You will do as I say. I stand in my father's place. My words are his words. Do you disobey us, demon?" Vultariax hissed again, but bowed his head in submission. His wings unfurled and he took flight, smashing through the roof, the raven following after in his wake. Wood, plaster and stone crashed to the floor, wrecking exhibits, shattering the tiling. The sorcerer's son watched them fly off, sheathing his knife. He turned to his remaining followers. "Come, let us greet our guests."

* * *

"That's the last of them," declared Cyclops, as his optic blast smashed apart the last skeletal rifleman. 

The Beast held a skull in his right hand, looking at it with an amused smirk. "Disposing of Yorick and his brethren was not as difficult as I feared." He tossed the skull over his shoulder.

"Agreed, the hard part is coming up. Time to find the ones pulling these things strings. Emma, can you pick up their thoughts?"

"No need to track 'em, Cyke," said Wolverine. He had settled into his ready stance, crouched, claws out and arms held wide. "They're comin' to us." He sniffed the air and his lips curled in disgust. "One o' them needs a bath."

"Form up, people. Get ready." The X-Men formed a defensive line near the front doors, Wolverine anchoring the left, Shadowcat the right. Frost stood next to Cyclops in her unarmored form. They formed the center of the line, with Beast to their left and slightly ahead.

The back lobby doors swung open and a tall man clad in deep blue and gold, his face covered by a golden mask of a beautiful, sinister youth, strode into the hall. With him were a man clad in gold and scarlet, and one of the largest bears most of the X-Men had ever seen. The masked man walked forward five paces and stopped, settling his left hand on the pommel of his sword. The bear flanked his right, rising up on its hind legs, its muzzle peeling back to reveal yellow fangs the length of daggers. The man in scarlet stood to the left and flashed the X-Men a shark's grin.

The two groups watched each other in wary silence. Tense seconds passed. The gold-masked man glanced at the destroyed remnants of his undead followers scattered across the lobby.

"Impressive," he commented. He spoke softly, but his deep, resonant voice carried to the X-Men with ease, like a rumble of distant thunder. His English was accented, making his voice sound like a tiger's purr. "You disposed of my _zalozhniy_ with ease."

Cyclops ignored the compliment. "Stand down and surrender now. We have no wish to hurt you, but if you force this you'll leave us no choice but to take you down hard."

"I think not, little man. You are too late – we've found what we're looking for and it is long gone from here. I offer a counter-proposal: you turn around and leave, and then we will depart. We go our separate ways and none of us are inconvenienced."

Wolverine shifted slightly. The rank musk of the bear was nearly overpowering, but there was another scent underneath it that was making him uneasy. It seemed familiar, but the musk masked it, making it difficult to identify. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated, his instincts on guard for the first hint of violence on either side.

"That isn't an option." Cyclops answered.

"Of course not, for you are heroes – another name for fools."

_Scott, I can't read the leader,_ Frost projected to Cyclops.

_He has a mental shield?_

_No, it's like he isn't even there. _

Cyclops raised a hand to the side of his visor. "Fools or not, you're not leaving."

The golden, pupiless eyes peering out behind the mask flared. "I beg to differ."

"Wait!" Wolverine shouted. Attention shifted to him. His eyes were wide and his expression incredulous. He audibly sniffed the air. "No… No way…"

"Wolverine, what's wrong?" Cyclops demanded.

"I know this guy. _We_ know this guy."

Shadowcat glanced at Wolverine then back at the masked man. A feeling of unease had swept over her the moment he had entered the lobby, and had grown stronger with each passing moment. Something about his voice, the way he moved, tickled a recognition in the back of her mind. It was something she couldn't place, but it disturbed her, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stir. Wolverine's declaration reinforced the sense of recognition, but she still couldn't place it… no, she knew it, but didn't want to acknowledge it. For the first time in a long while, she felt scared. Scared she was right. Scared that she was wrong. Scared of not knowing what she hoped the answer to be. Her hand crept up to her mouth. She found it hard to breathe.

The masked man's gaze raked over the X-Men. "You know me? Strange that you say that." He spoke slowly, as if picking his words with care. "From the moment I laid eyes on you all, I have been plagued by a sense of… familiarity… as if I have seen you before, but cannot remember where. It lies just beyond the grasp of my memory…" He reached up, removed his steel skullcap, and dropped it. It vanished in a blast of flame before touching the floor. "Ah, well… It matters not, since I'm going to kill you all." He pulled back his hood and removed his mask.

A tremor ran through the X-Men. Wolverine snarled. Beast and Frost's eyes widened and they dropped back a pace. Cyclops' lowered his hand from his visor. Shadowcat gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

His complexion was now pale, almost an albino hue. Black tattoos ran down the side of his face and his eyes were a metallic, burning gold without whites or pupils, but the X-Men still recognized him. His jet-black hair was the same, though it fell unbound to his shoulders now, as were the strong, sharp lines of his face and chin.

"Colossus…" said Cyclops.

"Piotr…" Shadowcat whispered.

"Colossus? Piotr? I do not know those names. I am Nikolai Black Sun."


	4. Chapter 2 Clash

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 2 – Clash

Nikolai Black Sun watched the X-Men closely, noting their shock and consternation, but not understanding it. He could not shake the sense of recognition holding his thought, the feeling that he knew these heroes, met them somewhere, someplace before, despite objectively knowing he had just only laid eyes on them scant minutes ago, while peering out through the eyes of a doomed _zalohzniy_. With a wrench of will he banished his déjà vu to a dim corner of his mind, considering it an irrelevancy to the task at hand. His mouth formed a cruel smile as he dropped his mask. Like his skullcap, it vanished in a burst of flame before touching the ground.

"You must forgive me, heroes. I have forgotten my manners. I must introduce you to my comrades-at-arms. This," he gestured to his right, " is Myedvyed Tsar. And here is Solovey. Solovey, say hello." His grin growing wider, the crimson-clad man took a step forward and screamed. A sonic assault crashed over the X-Men. They clapped their hands over their ears and nearly doubled over from the pain. Solovey ceased screaming and Myedvyed Tsar bellowed, dropping to all fours and charging across the museum lobby. The Beast was the first X-Man to recover. Through pain-bleared eyes he saw the giant bear loping forward, jaws open and frothing. With a pained grimace he intercepted Myedvyed Tsar with a prodigious jump, planting his heels into Tsar's head and neck. Beast tumbled back nimbly, landing lightly on his feet, dodged Tsar's attempted bite and struck him again in the neck with a powerful right hook. Myedvyed Tsar staggered slightly, then rose up on his hind legs with a roar that rivaled Solovey's scream and rained down a barrage of swipes and slashes at the Beast. The Beast evaded the attacks, though some by only the thickness of his fur. As he dodged and rolled he debated the wisdom of taking on single-handedly a large, angry, super- ursine, and quickly came to the conclusion that if he were truly wise he would never have become a super-hero in the first place. Having resolved the issue to his satisfaction, he grinned, sidestepped and launched a flurry of punches and kicks into Myedvyed Tsar's side. Tsar roared again, pivoted and tried to grapple his opponent, his dagger-long fangs gnashing and spraying.

Solovey ran forward with leaping strides, drawing his saber as he rushed Cyclops and Frost, grinning as he thought of cutting down the leader of his foes, eager for the pleasure of dimming the man's eyes, slicing open his chest and pulling out his heart, raw and beating, to devour it with relish. Cyclops was down on one knee, shaking his head, still stunned from the sonic attack, but Frost had recovered, her well-disciplined mind rising over the after-wash of pain reverberating through her body. Her lips contorted in an angry sneer, she shifted forms, her flesh becoming living diamond, and moved to block the bandit-troubadour. Solovey snorted and lashed his saber out contemptuously. The blade rang as it bounced harmlessly off of Frost; Solovey's face twisted as pain shot through his hand and arm. Frost took advantage of his surprise and struck him across the jaw with a solid punch. He rolled with the blow, somersaulting with cat's grace but staggering back slightly when he regained his feet. Frost pressed her advantage, throwing a sequence of punches at his head and chest. Solovey evaded desperately, counterstriking with slashes to her belly, arms and legs. Frost winced slightly with each hit; they stung, but were not injuring her. Suddenly Solovey leapt back from the fray, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. Frost pressed forward and Solovey screamed, projecting a concentrated sonic blast. Frost lurched back, reeling and tripping over her feet, her hands covering her ears. In her agony her concentration slipped and she changed back to her human form. Solovey stalked towards her, saber raised, his face flushed with rage, but was forced back by Cyclops' optic blast. The bandit-troubadour glared wrathfully at the X-Men's leader, now fully recovered and on his feet.

Wolverine straightened up groggily, the ringing in his ears quickly fading as his healing factor purged the pain from his body. His enhanced hearing had made him more vulnerable to Solovey's scream than the other X-Men. He shook his head again and growled, determined to deliver payback ten-fold, when his eyes settled on a better target...

Peter.

With a savage roar Wolverine closed the distance between himself and Nikolai and swung his claws. With surprising speed Nikolai sidestepped the attack and countered with a swift right jab that snapped the air. Wolverine ducked the shot and back-flipped over the low, sweeping kick that followed. He landed in a crouch several feet away, arms held wide and his teeth bared.

"You've gotten faster, Petey, I'll give ya that much," he snarled. "But it won't save ya from the ass kicking I'm going to give you. You deserve a good thrashin' for the hell you put us through."

Familiarity stirred again in the back of Nikolai's mind, but he quelled it with ease and disregarded everything save the threat. Sneering, he made come-hither gestures with his gauntleted hands. "Come and try, little man."

"With flamin' pleasure!" Wolverine threw himself at Nikolai. They clashed, their arms liquid blurs. To Wolverine's surprise his opponent evaded everything he threw, either dodging by scant inches or stepping in and checking the strikes by blocking his inner forearms, while executing well-placed counterattacks. Wolverine's mind rushed at a furious rate as he defended himself, weaving and bobbing while gauging Niklolai's abilities. He smelled like Peter and moved like Peter, but he was faster and fought with more skill than Peter ever did. With his great strength and endurance Colossus had never needed much finesse, while this Nikolai was perhaps on par with Shadowcat in fighting ability. Wolverine wondered briefly on how strong Nikolai was. His question was answered when a howling straight punch blew through his defense and caught him square below his mouth. His vision darkened and stars burst behind his eyelids. He felt himself hurl through the air as his body instinctively tumbled with the momentum of the hit. He landed on his feet and fell over, sliding on his ass across the floor, scattering shattered bones left and right, and crashed into the far wall. If he hadn't managed to roll with the punch, he would have gone through the wall and perhaps the building across the street. He forced himself up, leaning against the wall for support. He had not been punch this hard since the last time he tussled with the Hulk. He looked at Nikolai, who stood in a ready stance, waiting, his golden eyes narrowed slightly as he reassessed his foe. Wolverine cricked his neck and grinned. This was going to be fun. "Glad ta see you're still eatin' yer Wheaties, Pete." He charged back to the fight.

Shadowcat hovered at the outskirts of the melee, biting her lower lip. She had not felt this indecisive and useless in a fight since her first days as an X-Man. She scanned each combat quickly. Cyclops kept up a constant barrage of blasts trained on Solovey, denying him the slightest chance to pull in his breath and scream. Frost was coming around quickly. Shadowcat looked over towards Wolverine and quickly averted her eyes. She couldn't deal with that yet. She would have to, eventually, but not now. She then spotted Beast flipping and rolling in a circle around Myedvyed Tsar, trying to wear the massive ursine out. Taking a breath, Shadowcat ran towards them, shifting into her intangible state. On the run she snagged a heavy piece of stone debris and started to walk on air until she hovered ten feet over the great bear's head. Grinning mischievously, she dropped the stone, beaning Tsar on the skull, just behind his crown of horns. He winced and looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of the young girl floating on air, waving down at him.

"Hey there big, tall and gruesome! Shouldn't you be lying on the floor of a hunter's lodge up in the Catskills?" Myedvyed Tsar bellowed, reaching up to claw at Shadowcat. Beast jumped, landing on the bear's chest, grabbing hold of his fur with fingers and toes and punched him square in the throat. Tsar choked and staggered. Beast punched him again and he fell over, Beast kicking off the moment the bear hit the floor, adding more force to the impact. Grinning, he gave Shadowcat a jaunty salute. She waved back. Myedvyed Tsar roared furiously, rolling onto his legs with amazing speed and charging to bite the Beast. The Beast dodged while Shadowcat phased down and started kicking Tsar in the hindquarters, with little effect.

Solovey twisted out of the way of an optic blast, deflected a second with his saber and finally managed a short, sharp shout. It struck Cyclops like a fist, rocking him back, forcing the breath out of his lungs. Solovey rushed to finish off the X-Men, then with a startled oath checked himself, turned to the right and slashed out with his saber. He stood there for a second, blinking, then was knocked across the lobby by Cyclops, his blast catching the swordsman square in the mid-section. Solovey hit the floor hard, rolled several feet and laid still, his saber still clutched in his hand. Emma Frost, in her human form, smiled wickedly.

Wolverine feinted a right-handed slash at Nikolai's head, then lashed out with his left. The adamantium claws bit deep into Nikolai's right forearm. Golden blood sprayed the air. Grimacing violently, Nikolai struck with blinding speed, grabbing Wolverine by the throat with his right hand and lifting him off his feet. "Burn," Nikolai hissed. His eyes flared and his spilled blood ignited. A blast of flame ran down his arm and Wolverine screamed as it enveloped him. Nikolai lifted him over his head and dashed him to the floor, the impact causing it to crater. Still conscious, Wolverine rolled in a desperate attempt to put himself out.

"WOLVERINE!" shouted the Beast, and he moved to go aid his fallen friend. Myedvyed Tsar exploited his distraction and struck him hard in the head with the flat of his paw. The Beast slammed down into the floor, bounced once and landed on his back, unconscious. Bellowing in triumph, Myedvyed Tsar dropped down on the Beast to finish him off. His claws and teeth passed harmlessly through the X-Man. Tsar's piggish eyes widened in surprise, then realized someone was clutching at his back. He turned his head and saw Shadowcat clinging to him. Tsar roared in outrage, rose back on his hind legs and started to reach around, attempting to claw her off, but not quite able to reach her. Suddenly she let go and dropped down towards the Beast, just as Cyclops cut loose with a full-intensity optic blast. Myedvyed Tsar was sent crashing through the wall and tumbling into the street, where he lay in a stunned, smoldering heap.

Nikolai scowled, noting with irritation his two henchmen were down, and started stalking towards the man who put them out of the fight. Cyclops pivoted, aimed and fired, rocking Nikolai back a step. Cyclops fired again, but Nikolai braced himself for the second blast. It splashed and flared against his chest ineffectually, not even swaying him. "Not enough gun," he sneered.

"Try this, then," answered Cyclops, lowering his line of sight and firing. The optic blast struck Nikolai just above the ankles, toppling him down face-first with a thunderous crash. As he attempted to regain his feet Cyclops fired again, this time indirectly, ricocheting his blast off a nearby pillar and blasting Nikolai in the side of the ribs. The impact rolled him across the floor several feet. Laying flat on his stomach, Nikolai hissed in aggravation and struck the ground with his clenched fist. The entire lobby trembled and Cyclops was knocked off his feet by the shockwave directed at him. In a single push Nikolai regained his footing and jumped, arcing through the air, determined to crush his opponent beneath his heels. But then Frost interposed herself, shifted to diamond form, and as Nikolai descended she punched him out of the air with a thunderous haymaker that sent him flying across the lobby and through the swinging doors, destroying them. He skidded on his back down the hall a ways, sliding to a stop, his eyes flaring as his anger grew. Frost charged the doors and was running down the hall to follow up her attack. Nikolai tore a chunk of stone out of the floor and hurled it at her. She halted and braced herself; the stone shattered on her crossed arms. Nikolai kipped up, yanked the gauntlet off of his right hand, drew his dagger and ran it across his palm. Golden blood welled from the cut. Nikolai stretched out his arm, squeezed his palm and the blood sprayed down the hall, splashing Frost. She started back in surprise, looking down at herself, then at Nikolai in disgust. He grinned at her, drawing his hand to his chest, the cut all ready closed. "My blood is venom," he said to her. "My bile, darkness." He clenched his fist. The blood on Frost turned black and evaporated into tendrils of smoke. She blinked, then coughed, then started to choke. She dropped to her knees gagging, involuntarily changing forms, trying desperately to vomit up the strangling vapors she inhaled. Nikolai advanced on her, dagger held at the ready. Cyclops stepped into the hallway and fired, forcing him back. Growling, Nikolai licked his blood off the sides of the dagger. "Seek," he whispered to it before throwing. Cyclops jerked his head to one side, the blade missing him by a scant inch. He fired another blast that splashed against Nikolai with little effect, then heard Shadowcat shout out a warning. Thinking Solovey or Myedvyed Tsar had rejoined the fight, Cyclops spun around, ready to fire, and saw to his shock Nikolai's dagger flying at him, aimed directly at his heart. He fired at it, missed and was about to try to twist out of its path when Shadowcat laid hands on him and phased. The dagger passed through him, causing no harm but leaving him feeling strangely cold.

Nikolai caught the dagger and cocked his arm back for a second throw. As he aimed Wolverine burst past Cyclops and Shadowcat, howling on the top of his lungs. His wounds were healed, his costume badly burnt, and he was firmly in the grip of a berserker rage. Nikolai threw the dagger at him; he swatted it out of the air with a flick of his claws and hurled himself at Nikolai. He raked twice across the big man's chest, once across his face. Nikolai fell back, screaming in pain. Wolverine impaled him with a thrust to the stomach, and he answered with a double-fisted sledgehammer blow that pounded Wolverine deep into the floor. The Canadian mutant attempted to get up, but Nikolai stomped on the back of his head, driving him down even deeper and knocking him out. Nikolai's blood ignited, his wounds knitting shut in bursts of flame. His breath rushing harshly through grit teeth, he fumbled at the hilt of his broadsword. A small form threw itself at him, striking him in the face with a jump kick. The blow did not hurt, but it startled him. He withdrew a step and glared at his new opponent.

Shadowcat stood in her ready stance, screening Wolverine, ready to fight or flee in an instant. She knew she could not injure Nikolai without resorting to drastic measures, but hoped to distract him until Wolverine and Frost recovered. In the lobby the former White Queen was slowly recovering from her fit, having been pulled out of the hallway by Cyclops during Wolverine's attack, but Wolverine himself wasn't moving, and considering the physical trauma inflicted on him today, Shadowcat wasn't sure when he would be able to get up. She braced herself as Nikolai took a step towards her... and stopped.

Time froze for Nikolai. He could not move, and he did not know why. This was the first time he got a close look at this particular hero, and the sight of her paralyzed him. The sense of familiarity screamed in the back of his mind, overwhelming his senses. Unknown images of her erupted onto the stage of his memory – this young woman laughing, crying, enraged, upset, afraid, joyful, happy, loving. A strange, alien pain throbbed in Nikolai's chest, as if a void had opened within it. More visions manifested in his thought – other memories of the young woman, this time with another girl, a slight athletic blond whose face and mannerisms were also damnably familiar. The two girls had deep affection for each other, were as close as sisters. The void within him yawned wider. He shut his eyes, the emotional pain whelming his resistance.

Shadowcat watched Nikolai in dumbfounded amazement. His expression was one of absolute shock, almost fright. His all ready pale face had turned stark white and his clenched fists were shaking. He closed his eyes tight, fell back another step and opened them. Shadowcat gasped and nearly fell to her knees. His eyes were no longer solid metallic gold; they were deep blue.

"I know you," Nikolai whispered. His right fist uncurled. Hesitantly he reached out towards her. Shadowcat watched him, her heart thumping faster. She knew now beyond a doubt that this was Peter. In order to function in this fight she had told herself that this Nikolai was an imposter, some being or construct created by a past foe of the X-Men in order to hurt them emotionally. But now, looking into his eyes, hearing his wondering voice, this rationalization crumbled to dust. She knew in her heart, in the very depths of her soul, that this was Peter, her dear, dear friend. Changed, yes – and under the grasp of some terrible compulsion, but Peter all the same, arisen anew from ashes and dust.

"Piotr," she murmured, waiting to see what he would do. At the sound of his name he flinched, drawing back his hand. His eyes snapped closed and he reeled back, venting out an ear-splitting scream - a booming cry of raging, uncomprehending sorrow. He opened his eyes and they were gold again. He ran past her, moving so fast that he was almost a blur, fleeing towards the lobby. Shadowcat hesitated for a second before chasing after him.

In the lobby Cyclops fired a short blast at Nikolai, who dived and rolled underneath it. Solovey was reviving, gingerly getting to his feet and glaring murderously at Cyclops. Myedvyed Tsar re-entered the Met with a roar, clambering through the hole in the wall he had made. Both were angry and eager to kill, but were checked by a command from Nikolai. "Time to go." He gestured at the smashed front doors and a pillar of golden fire erupted before them, spiraling to the ceiling. Myedvyed Tsar lumbered to it, vanishing instantly the moment he stepped within it. Solovey let loose a scream to keep the X-Men at bay, then retreated into the pillar. Nikolai blocked an optic blast with his arms and paused for a moment, looking back at the X-Men, focusing on Shadowcat. Her face was pale and she was trembling. For a moment Nikolai's eyes flashed blue, and then with a hiss he strode imperiously into the fire. He and the pillar vanished.

Cyclops dropped his hand from his visor and let out his breath in a big gust. Shadowcat stood next to him, visibly shaken, her hands clenched tight and her lips pursed in a tight line. The Beast had sat up and was holding his head between his hands, taking in deep, rhythmic breaths. Frost was leaning against the lobby's back wall with both hands, taking in deep, gulping breaths of air. Cyclops walked to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Emma?"

Frost nodded. She turned to face Cyclops, wrapping her arms around his neck and brushing her lips against his. "Why did he retreat? He had us all but defeated."

"I don't know. Kitty confronted him after he knocked out Wolverine and while I was getting you out of harm's way."

"Interesting... It's disconcerting that his mind was so completely closed to me. Do you think that it is really Colossus?"

Cyclops sighed. "It's possible."

"More than possible, Cyke. It's a fact." Cyclops turned at the sound of Wolverine's voice. The Canadian mutant's costume was badly damaged, his mask and shirt burnt, his trouser and boots charred. Half-healed burns marred his exposed flesh, smoking in the air, but they were shrinking and fading quickly. "That was Peter." He scanned the destroyed lobby and grinned a feral smile. "Damn, this is one for the record books. What a hellacious fight."

"I can't believe you enjoyed this," said Frost. Wolverine shrugged.

"No sin in enjoying a good brawl. Coulda done without my ass being kicked, though." His smiled faltered when he looked at Shadowcat. "How you feelin', Pun'kin?"

"I'm fine," she lied, deceiving no one. "How about yourself?"

"I feel like I was lit on fire and used as a handball by someone who could give the Hulk a run for his money. Nothin' a few dozen six-packs of brew and a weeklong nap won't fix. How about you, Hank?" The Beast by then had joined them, still shaking his head.

"I want the number of the truck that ran me over," he grumbled. "I've been a super-hero most of my life. I've been an X-Man, an Avenger and a Defender and I've fought every sort of villain you can imagine, but this is the first time I've been cold-cocked by an over-sized refugee from Jellystone." He fingered the side of his head and winced. "At least he didn't tear my face off."

"Small favors are the best," commented Wolverine.

Cyclops frowned. "I'm afraid we haven't covered ourselves in glory this time. This place is in shambles and the people responsible for this fiasco escaped with whatever it was they were after."

"We saved the hostages, Scott," said Frost. "We got them out unharmed. That counts for something."

"I know, but I'm getting tired of the bad guys managing to get away from us." He sighed. "Or maybe I'm just tired in general. Let's clear out."

Fifth Avenue was swarming with activity. The police had cordoned off the area and held back the public, who invariably, with an instinct for self-preservation similar to lemmings, were attracted to super-powered clashes. EMTs were examining the hostages and shuttling those who wanted more thorough medical attention to the nearest hospital. Off in the distance a unit of Damage Control repair crews was making their way down the street to begin initial assessments of the destruction inflicted on the Metropolitan Museum. Local news crews had set up their cameras. The moment the X-Men stepped outside reporters started shouting questions. After Cyclops gave the officer-in-charge a brief synopsis of what happened in the museum, the X-Men left the cordon and the reporters swarmed them, demanding Cyclops and Shadowcat's attention.

Cyclops felt a tug on his arm and looked over at Shadowcat. Her mouth was trembling and her large golden-brown eyes were bright with un-shed tears. "I can't do this, Scott. Not now. Not-" She ran, phasing through the crush of the press, disrupting cameras, microphones and tape recorders, crossing Fifth Avenue and into Central Park. Cyclops watched her go, his express hard and stoic. Frost and Wolverine's words echoed in his mind. He felt ill, and he could not begin to imagine what Kitty was feeling. _Peter, what happened to you?_

"No questions today!" he shouted at the press. He continued to do so as he and the X-Men made their way through the reporters, following Shadowcat to the refuge of the Blackbird.

* * *

Kirayoshi – Thank you very much for the kind words. They're much appreciated, especially since after the deafening silence the two prologues of this story received, I didn't expect much in the way of commentary. In all honesty, I was getting the sinking feeling I had written a dog. I hope you enjoyed this chapter – I don't think I've ever written such a long battle-scene before in ANY type of fiction, and I hope it flowed well and was exciting to read.

As for your questions, all I can ask is for you to be patient. Everything will be answered, eventually. Hopefully you'll enjoy the journey.

By all means share this with OldPrydeFan. Hell, let Lia Fail know too. The reason Deathless exists is because Paper Flowers, Paint By Numbers and The Knight and the Maiden re-sparked my interest in Peter and Kitty.

Thanks for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper

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	5. Chapter 3 Councils

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

For Lia Fail.

Chapter 3 – Councils

After returning to the Xavier Mansion the X-Men gathered in the living room, still in costume, tired and dispirited. Scott and Emma sat together on the couch. Hank perched on a chair, twisting open a bottle of painkillers. Logan leaned against a wall, a bottle of beer in his hand. Kitty stood away from the main group, staring out the picture windows, her arms folded and her face stoic. Emma watched the younger woman quietly. Kitty's thoughts were a maelstrom of fear, anger and grief, each emotion clashing against the other with a ferocity that belied her pale, impassive face. Emma sighed and shuttered her psychic perception. The grimness radiating off of everyone was starting to give her a headache.

Scott spoke without preamble. "Logan, are you absolutely positive that was Peter?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't meant it." Logan took a sip of his beer. He looked over at Kitty, wishing he did not have to say what he was about to. "I've known Peter for as long as you have. I lived with him, trained with him, played with him, fought both at his side and against him. I'd know his scent anywhere. Without a doubt, that 'Nikolai' was Peter."

Scott sighed, looked down at the floor and ran his gloved hands through his hair. Emma laid a hand on his shoulder. "Who could have brought him back," she wondered out loud, "and for what purpose?"

"A few years ago Sinister approached Kurt," said Scott, "offering to create a clone of Peter, for a price. Perhaps-"

"It wasn't Sinister," Kitty declared. All eyes turned to her. She was still looking out the window. "He had nothing to do with this. Sinister is a scientist, and whatever is driving..." she hesitated for a moment, turned to face her teammates. "Whatever is driving Peter, it's sorcerous in nature."

"Are you certain about that, Ms. Pryde?" asked Emma.

"He had walking skeletons as flunkies, Frost," Kitty snapped. "That's sorta a real big indicator. I've also had a lot of up-close and personal experience with magic - my best friend was Sorceress Supreme of her own pocket Hell, and I inherited that mantle for a time." Kitty looked away. "I know sorcery when I see it; Peter reeked of it."

Emma glared at Kitty but refrained from retorting. "Belasco, then," Scott ventured.

Kitty shook her head. "Belasco never had any interest in Peter, and the minions Peter commanded aren't from Limbo."

"N'gari?"

"The N'gari wouldn't bother," said Logan. "They think humans are cattle, good fer nothin' but food. You know that, Scott."

"Yeah, I do. I'm just clutching at straws, hoping for something familiar, but I might as well face facts – we're dealing with someone new."

"Wonderful. First Ord, now this." Hank swallowed some pills and chased them with a glass of water. "So what do we do about it?"

"We find out what Peter stole from the Met. Hopefully that will clue us in on his motives, maybe help us predict his next move. Other than that, we'll just have to watch and wait."

"And prepare," added Logan. "Petey's learned some nasty new tricks."

Everyone fell silent. After a moment Kitty left without a word, walking on air to phase up through the ceiling, heading for her room. Hank leapt off his chair and made his way to the door. "I'll see if the police reports are available yet." Scott nodded. When Hank had left he stood and walked over to Logan, Emma following him.

"Are you going to check on Kitty later?" Scott asked. Logan nodded.

"After I get changed and let her have a bit o' time ta herself... This is gonna be rough on her."

"It's not going to be much easier on you or me, either."

"Yeah." Wolverine downed the rest of his beer. "It sure as hell ain't."

* * *

The column of flame erupted, illuminating the shadowy vastness of the sorcerer's hall. Nikolai Black Sun stepped forth from the fire's twisting crimson core. The column guttered down and died as he strode towards the great dais of polished onyx stairs. Solovey sat on the bottom step, running a whetstone along his saber's edge. Myedvyed Tsar laid sprawled out to the dais' left, panting hoarsely. With the corner of his eye Nikolai caught a glimpse of scintillating metallic colors, and heard a jangle of metal as Vutariax stalked about the edge of the hall. At the base of the dais Nikolai stopped and bowed, his right hand over his heart. "Father, I have returned. Did you receive the icon?"

In the shadows that cloaked his malachite throne the sorcerer tilted his head slightly, agate-hard eyes gleaming in the darkness. "I have. You moved with commendable speed and precision, and for that I praise you. However, I am forced to question your wisdom." Nikolai straightened and looked up at his father, his golden eyes bright and sharp. "You had found the first part of the key," continued the sorcerer. "You needed but to open a portal and step through, your task accomplished. Instead, you send Vultariax back, so you can stay to fight an unnecessary battle, one easily avoided. Why?"

Nikolai did not answer right away, carefully mulling his response. He was not quite sure himself on why he had sought conflict against the heroes who destroyed the _zalozhniy_. The feelings of recognition stirred again as he thought of them, the brown-haired young woman in particular preeminent in his thought. The void within him cracked open slightly and he recoiled from the feelings, sealing them away. "I wished to test myself, Father. For over two years I have been fettered in your hall. The temptation to fight against the heroes of the mortal world, I could not resist." It was not quite the truth, but close to it.

The sorcerer shifted on his throne. "How did you fair?"

"We did well."

"Are they dead?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It did not seem necessary to kill them at this time. Needless slaughter is a wasteful expenditure of energy."

"So is needless battle." The sorcerer rose from his throne and walked down the stairs, stepping out of the shadow. He was tall and terribly thin, his skin but yellow parchment stretched drum-tight over his bones. White wisps of hair radiated wildly from his skull, and his cold agate eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. His thin black lips were curled back, his sharp, prominent yellow teeth bared in a snarl. He wore a gold circlet on his wide brow, and a rotting caftan of crimson silk swathed his cadaverous frame. In bony hands he carried the icon of Saul stolen from the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. He reached the bottom of the dais and stepped towards his son, looking hard into his eyes. Nikolai did not flinch. They stared at each other for some moments before the sorcerer spoke.

"You are the most powerful of my warriors, Nikolai. You are my eyes and my fist. I have no intentions on spending you frivolously. Fighting these heroes was an unnecessary, dangerous indulgence. Do not do so again, unless they stand between you and our immediate goals. Accomplish what I send you to do, then return – no more, no less. There will be fighting enough for you once I ascend. Do you understand?"

Nikolai bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

"Good. Go and rest for now. Soon I shall send you out again." Nikolai nodded, turned on his heel and strode towards an arch leading out of the hall. "Nikolai!" The sorcerer called out. Nikolai stopped and looked back. "Are you all right? Your thoughts seem... troubled."

"... I am fine, Father," Nikolai answered. The sorcerer nodded and Nikolai left the hall. The sorcerer watched him go thoughtfully.

"Solovey," he said. The bandit-troubadour set down his whetstone and stood.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Describe these heroes that you fought."

Solovey sheathed his saber. "There were five of them, my lord. Their leader was a svelte man cowled and dressed in black leather, whose eyes shot red force. I will kill him at my earliest convenience. There was a blond woman who can change her flesh into diamond and make you see things. She I will have fun with before killing. A short, stocky man in yellow and black, with metal claws sprouting from his fists; he will be hard to kill - The _knyaz_ set him on fire, and it barely slowed him. A blue ape with the head of a great cat, very swift and agile. And last another woman, younger than the rest, small and slender, with brown hair. Good looking, too. She walked on the air."

The sorcerer's eyes glittered at the mention of the last hero. "Is this the young woman you saw?" He gestured with a hand and an image manifested, floating before him. It was a miniature of Kitty Pryde, her hair cut short, dressed in a black trench coat, holding a funerary urn in her small, gloved hands, her expression one of depthless grief. Solovey leaned close to the image, his black eyes narrowing. He nodded to himself.

"Aye, that is she. Her hair is longer now, tied up in a tail, and she wore a suit of yellow and black, but that woman was with those heroes, my lord Koschei."

Koschei the Deathless inhaled sharply through his nose. His eyes burned with a strange, menacing light. "The weavings of the _Rozhanisty_ are mysterious indeed. Not even I nor the Baba Yaga can predict their whims." He glared at the image of Kitty Pryde. "They have wound strong threads between my son and this girl, ones that will be difficult to untie. But it matters not – I shall sever them. I will not be thwarted." He took hold of Saul's icon with both hands then released it. It hovered between his hands for a moment before exploding into a cloud of wooden splinters. The splinters pattered down against the floor, leaving floating behind a golden ring. The ring was twice the width of a man's eye, and jutting from it was a thin milled rod, like a screw shaft. Koschei grasped the ring between a bony finger and thumb and peered through it. "The day of the Third Rome draws nigh. I will swallow my doom... and the world will be mine."

* * *

Logan hesitated in front of Kitty's door. He had showered and changed, dressed casually in flannel and jeans. He rapped on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Me, Pun'kin."

"Come in." Logan opened the door and paused a moment at the threshold. This was the first time he had been in Kitty's new quarters and he glanced around curiously. It was spacious and a little messy. Her black and yellow uniform lay crumpled at the side of her bed, along with a bathrobe. Some large posters decorated the white painted walls - a Casablanca and a Star Wars movie posters; a blown-up reproduction of the cover art from an Anne McCaffrey novel, depicting a golden dragon and its rider soaring over an alien landscape; a poster of Stevie Hunter in ballerina kit, striking a pose, her face angelic. It was probably an old promotional from before her accident. The poster was signed: _To my Kitten. Love always, Stevie_. Against the right hand wall stood a clothes bureau, its top cluttered with make-up and toiletries, and a large bookcase. The bookcase was packed with computer tech manuals and trade magazines, along with a large selection of science fiction and fantasy novels, all arranged in no discernable order. On the nightstand next to the twin sized bed rested a lamp, the latest Larry Niven Ringworld novel, book marked with a red tassel, and a framed photograph of a thirteen year old Kitty posing with her parents. A large, spiral bound album lay open on the bed. Logan peered at it and realized it was one of Peter's old sketchbooks. On the left hand page was a sketch of Kitty, a teen-aged Illyana Rasputin and Doug Ramsey. They were lined up in a row, Kitty in the middle, their arms around each other shoulders, smiling large, happy grins, with Illyana and Doug flashing victory signs. On the right hand page was a self-portrait of Peter, sitting on an old tree stump, whittling a piece of wood with a jackknife, his expression one of deep contemplation.

Kitty was sitting at her computer desk, peering at the monitor. She wore an over-sized Cats Laughing tee shirt that hung down to her knees and black sweatpants. She was bare foot, her ankles crossed beneath the desk. She smelled strongly of good clean soap and honey shampoo. Lockheed was curled up on the desk, to one side of the monitor, watching his mistress pensively.

Logan quietly entered the room, shutting the door behind him, and sat down on the bed, right behind Kitty. He did not say anything, and Kitty did not acknowledge his presence. She continued to look at the monitor, occasionally clicking her mouse. Silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable. Logan watched the growing tension in her shoulders. He remained quiet.

Finally Kitty spoke. "Well?" she demanded impatiently.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me if I'm all right?"

"No need ta. I can see that you ain't."

Kitty whirled her chair around and glared at Logan. He looked back unperturbed. Kitty held the glare for a moment, then her expression crumpled. She turned back to the monitor, her shoulders starting to shake, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Lockheed climbed into her lap and cooed softly, trying to comfort her. She grabbed him up in a fierce hug, pressing her cheek against his head as she cried. Logan leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Kitty," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, his own eyes burning a little. "It's okay."

After a few minutes Kitty's sobbing subsided. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. Logan took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. She wiped at her eyes again and blew her nose. Lockheed licked at her face and continued to coo. She smiled weakly at the little dragon and gave him a little peck on the head. She handed back the handkerchief to Logan, who folded and re-pocketed it.

"Feel a bit better?" he asked. She shook her head. "Can't blame ya."

"God, Logan," she said, voice hoarse from her crying, "I thought I was over him. I thought I had my feelings for him buried away, and then this happens and it's like someone reached in and tore apart everything inside of me. It makes me want to just curl up and die."

"I know. I feel a bit like that myself. So does Scott. We're not hurtin' as bad as you are, Pun'kin – nowhere damned near as close – but we still hurt. I've known Petey since he was fifteen, an innocent hick kid fresh off o' the farm; he was my friend. Seein' him, back from the dead and changed the way he is, it was a kick in the gut."

"I kept telling myself all throughout the fight that it was a hoax," Kitty confessed. "That someone like Sinister or Shaw or Arcade had created a replica of Peter to throw us off guard. But then I confronted him... He knew me, Logan. His eyes turned blue. He couldn't remember my name, but he knew me..." Kitty trailed off and looked out the window next to her bed. Outside the light was dimming.

"Last year," she continued, "on the anniversary of Peter's... going away... I saw someone who looked exactly like him. It was uncanny. I thought – I _hoped_ – that he was back. Considering the life that we lead, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. But he wasn't. He was a police officer, a real nice guy named Danny. But I so wanted him to be Peter... I was missing him so bad." Kitty wiped at her eyes again. "But a little later I realized something. Something that you'd think you'd know right away, but takes time learn. I realized Peter would always be in my heart. That I would always love him and he would always be my friend and nothing would change that, not even death." She turned towards Logan, smiling slightly. "After a year of grief, I was finally able to live again." Her smile faded and her face became hard. "And now this happens. Some goddamn bastard sorcerer brings him back, desecrates him, turns him into a monster..." Her lips trembled and tears brimmed in her eyes. "I don't know how to deal with this, Logan."

"You'll find a way, Pun'kin, and we'll help you. It'll be hard, but you'll make it through. You're the toughest woman I know."

Kitty picked up Lockheed off of her lap, set him down on top of her monitor, stood up and hugged Logan hard. "Thank you, Logan."

"No problem, Kitty." Logan patted her back. Kitty let go and he stood up. "You hungry? I'll rustle you up some grub."

Kitty shook her head. "Maybe later. Right now I'm looking up something. Those beings with Peter– Solovey and Myedvyed Tsar – their names sounded familiar to me. I want to find out why."

"Okay, but try ta get something in you before too long. Today was hard and long, and ya need ta keep up yer strength." He headed toward the door. As he opened it Kitty called out to him. He looked back at her.

"Peter did recognize me," she said. "His memory is buried, but it's there. I know it. Do you think… " She hesitated, biting her lower lip. Her eyes were bright with a fearful hope. "Do you think we can get him back, somehow?" she finished in a rush.

Logan did not answer immediately. "I don't know, Pun'kin. All we can do is try. But we will bring him home, one way or the other. And whoever did this ta him will pay. I promise."

* * *

Emma Frost sighed in contentment, rolled onto her side, propped up her head on her hand and looked at the man lying next to her in bed. Scott stared up at the ceiling, his head pillowed on his hands, his eyes hidden by opaque red safety glasses. The love they had made minutes before had been furious, Scott taking out his frustrations on Emma's pliant, willing body. She hadn't minded; she liked it hard and rough. Point of fact, with this man she liked it any way whatsoever. But none of their previous sessions had been anything like this, and the change troubled her. Emma sidled her naked body against Scott and laid her slim arm across his narrow, defined chest.

"Penny for your thoughts," she murmured as she kissed his cheek.

"I don't know if they're worth that much," he replied.

"They are worth a considerable amount to me."

Scott slipped an arm from under his head and wrapped it around Emma. He gently stroked her arm while she traced the flat, hard planes of his chest and stomach with her forefinger. "Why don't you just read my mind?"

"I'd rather hear you tell me. In many ways the spoken word is more potent than pure thought. It is definitely more cathartic." Scott glanced at her curiously, then nodded and looked back up at the ceiling.

"I trained Peter, you know," Scott said. Emma nodded. "After Krakoa – God, it feels like a lifetime ago – Charles stepped back and left the bulk of the training of our new team to me. I taught Peter everything I knew about being a superhero, an X-Man. He learned fairly quickly and he was pretty good. Hell, he was damned good, better than he ever gave himself credit for. And he was a good man, too. Warren once told me he thought Peter was the most honest, honorable person he ever met, and I agreed with him. Peter deserved so much better than what he ultimately got... I wasn't here when he committed suicide. I wish I had been. Maybe I could have stopped it... Maybe..." Scott shook his head and sighed. "When Charles and Jean told me about what he did... it was Thunderbird, all over again. I blamed myself for John Proudstar's death. I felt like I had failed him. If only I had been a better teacher, or made a greater effort to be his friend, then perhaps he would still be here. With Peter it was worse, because he was my friend, as well as my student, and I wasn't there when he needed me."

"If you could have helped them, Scott, you would have. But both of them were out of your reach because of circumstances beyond your control. Peter and John's deaths are not your fault."

"I know, Emma, but I couldn't help the way I felt then, just as I can't help what I'm feeling now. Seeing Peter today, alive but changed, warped almost beyond recognition, brought all that guilt back up again." Scott laughed bitterly. "It's the story of my life. Jean, Proudstar, Warren, and now Peter... Watching them die. Seeing them turned into monsters. Not being able to do a damn thing about it. I wonder sometimes why I even try."

"We try because the alternative is to surrender, to go gently into the night. All we can do is try to do our best, and your best has saved the world again and again."

"What good is saving the world when I can't even save the people I love?"

"You're saving me. Every day I'm with you, I want to try to be a better person than I was before. You helped save me from a path that would have led only to perdition. Maybe it's not much, rescuing a tarnished harlot like myself, but it's something."

Scott turned on his side, cupping Emma's cheek with his hand. "You're not a harlot, Emma."

Emma smiled sadly. "How nice of you to say, but we both know the truth."

"You're not." Scott kissed her hard. She moaned against his lips and embraced him. After a while they pulled away and lay silent and still in each other's arms.

"Emma," Scott whispered. "Thank you..."

"You're welcome..."

* * *

Hank rocked back and forth on the rocking chair in his room, listening impatiently to the phone ringing at his ear. "Come on, you big lug," he muttered. "Pick up." On the fifth ring there was a click and a deep, somewhat tired sounding baritone voice spoke.

"Hello?"

Hank's mouth split into a big grin. "Greeting and salutations to the Left Coast. How is my favorite red eyed boy?"

There was a brief pause, then hearty laughter echoed over the line. "Hank? Goddamn, I can't believe it! How are you doing?"

"Not too shabby. How 'bout yourself, Simon? You keeping busy?"

"Oh yeah, you can say that," Simon Williams answered. "Damn, it's good to hear from you. I've been meaning to give you a buzz, but – I know it's a poor excuse – I've been on the go a lot out here –"

"So many starlets, so little time."

"Ah, nuts to you, you hypocrite." Hank laughed.

"All right, I'll be serious, hard as it is. How's Second Chances going? I've been reading a lot of good things about it in the news rags – Time and Newsweek and all."

"It's going great, Hank - far better than I ever expected. The people I have working for me are a great crew and we've been able to help a lot of people over the past year. The events and banquets we sponsor are raking money in hand over fist. I'm still recovering from last night's outing. We were charging a thousand dollars a plate and the hall was packed almost beyond capacity. It was a zoo. You should have seen some of the celebrities that turned out."

"I wish I did. And I'm not surprised at how well you're doing with the Hollywood set. I mean, how can hanging out with Orlando Bloom or Julia Roberts compare with meeting a living, breathing Avenging superhero?"

Simon laughed. "Good point. Hey, maybe I should have you come co-host one of our events. With two Avengers maybe we could get twice the turnout and donations."

"Thanks but no thanks. All the ladies would want of a lock of my hair. I'd end up coming back to Westchester bald."

"Maybe they'll scream in adulation and throw their panties at you, instead."

"Perhaps if I did my Elvis impersonation. Hmmm... Tell me, is there the possibility of Catherine Zeta-Jones being one of my potential groupies?"

"Yeah, pretty good chance. She was at the charity dinner last night."

"Then I'll be over on the next flight. I'd tug on Doctor Doom's cape and moon him for the chance to get a pair of Cathy's panties."

"And what would you do to get _in_ her panties?"

"I'd tell you, but I don't want to offend your delicate sensibilities, Si."

"Ha! You _do_ know she's married to Michael Douglas."

"A trivial obstacle! Does Michael Douglas have my animal magnetism? My suave poise? My sophisticated wit?"

"No, no and no. But he does have a whole lot more money than you."

"Good point. In that case I think I'll settle for a quick smooch and goose." Both men laughed. "Anyhow Simon, you're not putting too much on your plate, are you? You sounded a bit ragged when you answered."

Simon thought for a moment. "It gets tedious at times. I pull some long hours, but I think it's worth it. But I'll admit, there are days when I feel having a throwdown with Pagan would be a relief."

"Never thought I'd hear you say something like that. How's Wanda doing?"

"Oh... I'm not seeing her anymore."

"Seriously? I thought you two were rather cozy. What happened?"

"Nothing major. It's just something we mutually agreed upon. We're still good friends, but it wasn't clicking in the right way. Last time I talked with her, she mentioned she and Vision were seeing each other again. They're taking it slow, but it's fairly serious."

"No kidding? About damn time."

"Tell me about. Bro never stopped loving her, you know. His feelings just got buried when those government bastards took him apart. Took him awhile to dig 'em up. Anyhow, enough about my sordid life – tell me what's going on with you. I hear your team's making a bid to improve the X-Men's standings in the public eye."

Hank hesitated. "Yeah, we are. Don't know if it's working, though."

"From what I've heard you guys are handling it pretty well. It's about time you did something like this. A little good P.R. can go a long way. Take it from one who knows."

"Yeah, I guess so..." Hank trailed off. The line fell quiet for several seconds.

"You okay, Hank?" Simon asked. "You're not your usual loquacious self right now."

Hank sighed and rubbed his chin with an oversized paw. "Have you seen the news tonight yet?"

"No. I've been crashing most of the day. What happened?"

"My team got into a fight with some freaks here in New York. Failed to stop a robbery, but we managed to wreck the Metropolitan Museum of Art's lobby pretty good... Simon, do you remember Peter Rasputin... Colossus?"

"How could I forget? You told me what he did with that vaccine for Legacy you were... Oh, shit."

Hank grinned weakly. "I'm afraid he's cribbed from you playbook, Simon."

"And he's working for the other side."

"Yup. Pretty good at it, too. Calls himself Nikolai Black Sun, now. Cute, dontcha think?"

Simon's tone became deadly serious. "If you want, I can be in Westchester in an hour, hour and a half. I'll requisition a quinjet and fly right over."

"I wouldn't want you to break any commitments."

"Fuck my commitments. If you need help I'll be over just like lightning."

"That's the wrong super-team motto, and you're mangling it in the bargain... I appreciate the offer, Simon, but this is something we're going to want to take care of in house. I just wanted to talk to you. I haven't talked to you in a while, and you always cheer me up."

"...Okay... I can understand that. But if you need me for anything – fighting, talking, whatever – give me a shout. I always have my cell on me. Here's the number." Simon recited his cell phone number.

"Thanks Simon. I appreciate it, oh bestest buddy."

"No problem. How are you holding up?"

"Better than the rest of the team. I never knew Peter as well as Scott, Wolverine or Shadowcat did, but it was still a shock."

"It always is. How bad is it going to get, Hank?"

"... Wolverine says he punches like the Hulk. Scott's optic blasts barely rocked him. He heals real fast and knows some nasty magic tricks. He probably could have beaten us single-handed if he hadn't freaked out for some reason. On top of that he has some henchmen who are no slouches themselves, along with an army of animated skeletons. I don't foresee myself being bored anytime in the near future."

"Damn, Hank. You sure you don't want me to come watch your back? I'll try to grab Bro and Wanda too, if you want."

"Those Beverly Hills dowagers must _really_ be after you, if you're that eager to get into a super-powered slugfest."

Simon chuckled. "Hank, you wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Okay, okay. I'll run your offer by Scott, and if it gets real bad I'll call you ASAP. Scout's honor."

"Cool... Ah, I'm probably over-reacting, anyway. You guys can take care of yourselves. Muties are a tough bunch."

"Damn right. I personally chew on iron nails each morning for breakfast."

"That explains a lot about you. Anyhow, my schedule is clearing up in a month or two. I was thinking about swinging into New York for a short breather."

"Most excellent! When you do, come by the mansion. We can go hit a new jazz joint I heard about..."

* * *

Nikolai Black Sun sat in the center of the cavern, his legs folded Indian style, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed as he attempted to meditate. Fire pits burned around him, scalding the air, their heat cleansing and invigorating him. Sweat beaded his body, glistening gems of liquid trailing down his powerful frame. He was naked, save for the loincloth knotted about his hips. Arabesques of black thorn-vine tattoos ran down the muscular contours of his broad chest and back. Twin rings of thorns circled his biceps, linking together the vines that ran up his arms. The tattoos glittered like onyx in the shadow-dappled firelight, standing out starkly against his pale skin.

A fire pit roared, its flames leaping higher, licking at the stalactites studding the cavern ceiling. Nikolai canted his head slightly, his lips pulling away from straight white teeth. His meditations failed; the visions still plagued him. The brown-haired young woman danced tauntingly in his mind. Sometimes she was alone, other times the blond accompanied her. Nikolai's heart pumped fiercely in reaction to their presence, and his breathing became sharp and ragged. His hands clenched into tight fists. The howling void yawned wider within him, resisting all his efforts to wrench it shut. He ached with a strange, half-formed desire he did not understand. In spite of the heat, he shivered.

Koschei the Deathless stood outside the cavern, watching his son. He entered, striding towards Nikolai. His boots left imprints of frost on the hot stone, and fire pits flickered and died as he passed. He halted behind Nikolai and stared down at him, his half-lidded eyes glowing like embers snatched from the floor of hell.

"Father," Nikolai said. He neither turned to face Koschei, nor opened his eyes.

"What plagues you, my son?" the sorcerer said, his sibilant whisper cutting through the loud crackle of the flames. "Something vexes you, disturbs the cold tranquility of your thought. Confide in me."

"...I am having visions, Father. Visions that feel like memories, long forgotten, and now but lately recalled, hazy and imperfect. I see people alien to me. Foremost is a woman – brown haired, slight, beautiful." Nikolai shook his head. "The emotions they evoke confuse me, Father, and their origins are an enigma. They cannot be memories; until today, I have not left your hall. I have never seen this woman, yet my heart and my mind scream that I know her. But that is impossible. How can this be, Father?"

Koschei ran his lean, bony fingers through Nikolai's long mane of black hair. "Do not fret, my darling childe. These visions are but figments of your battle-stirred mind, conjured by fatigue and adrenaline. Banish them, they are not worth contemplating." Koschei's hand glowed with a silver light. The light enveloped Nikolai, enveloping him in a luminous, diffuse aura. Nikolai's eyes snapped open; they were metallic silver now, instead of gold. Koschei pulled his hand away, and the radiance faded. Nikolai closed his eyes, rose, turned to face his father. He opened his eyes and they were gold once more.

"How do you feel?" asked Koschei.

"I am well, Father."

"And your visions?"

Nikolai tilted his head. "What visions, Father?"

"It is of no moment. Come with me, Nikolai. It is time for you to prepare for your next incursion into the mortal world. My scrying has borne fruit – I have found the Patriarch's Crosier..."

* * *

Lia Fail – Thanks very much for your kind words and multiple reviews. They made me feel a lot better about the story. I'm glad that you feel that I pulled off the big fight so well. I was concerned about its flow when I first wrote it, but on further examination I think I managed to do well with it.

The confrontation between Nikolai and Kitty touched a cord with at least one other reader. Things between those two will get very interesting, before everything is said and done.

I honestly don't know too much about what's going on between Scott and Emma in the comics. Astonishing is the first X-title I've read in about ten years, so I don't know the exact details of their relationship, though I do know the general gist of how it started and why. Hopefully I haven't portrayed them too out of character here.

I'm having a bit of fun with the references to other things in the Marvel Universe. The Beast/Wonder Man conversation in this chapter, for example, was a joy to write. The isolation of the X books is one of the many factors that drove me away from them in the first place. I'll keep placing them as the mood strikes me. I'm also glad that you like my humor. Even the darkest of stories can use the occasional wry chuckle.

I'm glad you liked happy Kitty. Needless angst and anger is over-rated, and hearing your description of her in X-Treme makes me glad I missed that title. I'm afraid, however, that Kitty will probably not be very happy throughout the course of Deathless, but who knows what the future will bring? That's all I'm going to say about that.

Thanks again for your kind words.

B – Thank you for the kudos, and I'm glad you're enjoying this story. I'll try to stay regular with the updates – writing this gives me something to do while waiting for new chapters of The Knight and the Maiden and Paper Flowers.

RabidFanGirl – Thanks for the encouragement, and for thinking so well of my story. I find it gratifying that you think I have a good handle on the X- folks. Their characterization is something I worry about. I think I'm fine with Nikolai/Peter and Kitty, since they are my favorites, and Wolverine, who I'm not a big fan of, I've found surprising easy to write. But I'm concerned with my portrayals of Emma, Scott and Hank. Hopefully I haven't strayed too far with their personalities yet. I'll try my best to keep 'em on track.

Thanks all for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	6. Chapter 4 War In San Francisco

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 4 – War In San Francisco

"All right, here's what I've found out," said Hank. It was early in the evening of the day after the fight with Nikolai the Deathless. Dinner had just finished up and Scott's team had commandeered the den for some brainstorming. Scott and Emma had taken the couch and Hank was again perched on top of his chair. Kitty sat on the edge of a chair opposite of the couch, drumming her fingers against her leg. Logan leaned against his usual spot on the wall, a bottle of Sam Adams in his hand. He was looking at Hank, eyebrow arched.

"Don't you ever sit like a normal person, Hank?"

Hank flashed a toothy grin. "Normality is badly overrated, chum." He adjusted his reading glasses and scanned the printout he held in his oversized paw. "According the NYPD report, several pieces of artwork were damaged during the incident. Seems that our friends blew a hole through the Met's roof and the resulting debris hit some of the exhibits. The Metal Bird was spotted egressing the Met via said hole and it flew off east, in the company of a rather large raven."

"So that's where that thing went," muttered Scott. "I had wondered where it got to."

"We should be grateful that it hadn't stayed," said Hank. "The goop it spits is a powerful contact hallucinogenic. Makes a bad LSD trip seem like a pleasant summer daydream. Some of those police officers he sprayed are going to be in psych wards for a long time." Hank frowned and shook his head. "Peter and the two goombas with him were bad enough. If Metal Bird had been there with them, we may not have walked away... Anyway, Met and insurance representatives have made their initial inventory, and the only thing definitively missing is a 14th century Russian religious icon – it's basically a painting on a square of wood. This one depicted Saul meeting with the Witch of Endor, and was part of an exhibit on loan to the Met from the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow."

"Anything special about this particular icon, Hank?" Scott asked.

"Only that it was in unusually good shape. Most Russian icons that old were severely damaged when the Russian Orthodox clergy went on a bourgeois kick sometime after Peter the Great's death. They started plating everything in their churches with gold, and it played havoc on the icons. Somehow the Saul icon must have been spared, since it was pretty vivid for something painted seven or so centuries ago. But even so, there were at least eight or ten other icons in equally good condition at the Met exhibit."

"What about it's history. Anything strange there?"

"Not that I can tell. It was bequeathed to the Pushkin Museum, along with several other objects d'art, from the will an art dealer out of France – one Fyodor Dobrynski. Dobrynski was the son of Russian nobles who managed to flee the Bolshevik Revolution with most of their wealth intact. Ole Fyodor specialized in handling Russian art. Thousands of pieces passed through his possession during his life – icons, paintings, sculptures, lacquer art... hell, he even had a few of the lesser Faberge eggs at one time. It'll be a mare's nest trying to find out where he got one particular icon. I was lucky enough as it is to track his name down."

Scott let out a gust of breath. "See what you can find Hank. I don't expect miracles, just give it a try." He looked at Kitty. "Logan mentioned you were looking into something about Peter's henchmen."

Kitty nodded. "Yeah... When we got back and I had... calmed down a bit, their names started to feel familiar. I couldn't place them, though, so after I cleaned up from the fight I did a search on the 'Net to see if I could find anything that jogged my memory." Kitty glanced around at her teammates. "Solovey and Myedvyed Tsar, those names are from Russian legends."

No one said anything for a moment. Everyone looked at Kitty; she was staring down at her hands, folded tightly together in her lap. "Myedvyed Tsar is Russian for 'Bear King'. He's one of the Beast Tsars, and is the ruler of all the bears of Russia. According to the stories I've read, he's a nasty, dangerous cantankerous brute."

Hank made a face and rubbed the side of his jaw. "Yup, sounds like our Smokey the Bear. Got into an absolute snit just because I punched him in the throat."

Kitty snorted. "That does tend to make one testy. The other henchman – Solovey – I found his name in an archive of the _Byliny_."

Emma Frost's flawless brow furrowed slightly. "What is the _Byliny_?"

"They're a cycle of heroic legends and songs, detailing the great deeds of the _Bogatyrs_ – mighty heroes of antiquity. It's sorta the Russian equivalent of the Knights of the Round Table." Kitty's lips curved into a small smile and her eyes became wistful. "Peter use to tell Illyana stories from the _Byliny_ for bedtime. Even when she was older, she'd love hearing them. During the winter Peter would start a fire and they'd curl up on the couch together and he'd tell her stories about Ilya Muromets or Dobrynya Nikitich or Alyosha Popovich." Kitty sighed. "I liked hearing about them, too. Peter was a good story teller." Kitty paused for a few moments, lost in memory. Her teammates waited patiently. She sighed again and shook herself back to the present. "Solovey Razboynik – Nightingale the Robber – was a villain from those stories, a man who could kill with a shout."

Scott nodded. "Emma and mine's sparring partner is a match on that... Did any of these stories give you a clue about who could be pulling Peter's strings?"

Kitty shook her head. "The sobriquet Peter's using, 'Deathless', it rang a bell, but after finding out about Myedvyed Tsar and Solovey I really needed to eat and crash. Today I've been busy with my teaching duties, but I plan on hitting the 'Net again after we wrap up here."

Emma shifted slightly. "It is hard to believe that we're facing things from out of fairy tales."

"I could call up the Avengers Mansion, see if Thor's around. You could talk to him and get his opinion on the plausibility of legendary beings," Hank wisecracked. Emma shot him a dirty look. Scott patted her on the thigh.

"Hank has a point, Emma. The Norse and Greek gods exist – "

"Yup," Logan broke in. "Back in the day, Kitty and me and the rest of the X-Men and New Mutants visited Asgard. Faced off against Loki himself."

"...And if Thor and Asgard exists, I have no problem in believing in Russian bear kings and supernatural bandits."

Emma sighed. "A good point, but I still find this disconcerting. And does knowing what they are really help our position any?"

Scott shrugged. "At least we have an idea of what we're facing. It's better to know something than remain ignorant."

"A sentiment after my own heart," commented Hank. At that moment Scott's beeper buzzed. He looked down at it, read its text message and scowled.

"That's the War Room's computer. I'm having it monitor for unusual activity and it's just picked up a newsreport. Someone check CNN." Hank obliged, snagging a remote from the table with his foot, flipping it in the air, catching it in his hand, clicked on the big screen TV by the picture windows.

On screen, people were screaming, running in terror. Skeletons rampaged through a narrow street running up a steep hill. They were shooting off energy muskets, turning over cars, rampaging through buildings. An on-the-scene reporter frantically narrated the action. "They appeared ten minutes ago and started attacking! San Francisco authorities have been helpless to stop them! National Guard units are being scrambled and the Avengers – "A crimson figure leapt from a group of skeletons rushing up the street. It was Solovey. He walked straight towards the camera, smiling his shark's grin, his drawn saber resting casually on his shoulder. He stopped fifteen feet away, waved at the camera, opened his mouth and screamed. The X-Men winced at the piercing sound that channeled through. The images on the TV burst into static.

"Oh my stars and garters," murmured Hank.

"Looks like Petey has upped the stakes," growled Logan. A sick, almost frightened expression flashed across Kitty's face while Emma looked on sternly. Scott stood up, his countenance tight and stoic.

"Suit up people. It's time for round two..."

* * *

Feeling old and tired, Stephen Savin let out a sigh as he stood in front of his house on Larkin Street. Today he had not enjoyed his walk through Alice Marble Park as much as usual, and he could not put his finger on the reason why. The tourists had been few and the day had been beautiful – sunny, cloudless and warm. Yet despite the weather and the relative quiet he had felt oddly oppressed, as if some imminent threat lurked nearby, waiting to strike. Perhaps age and solitude was finally catching up to him. Savin shrugged and unlocked his front door. A stiff drink of vodka and a perusal through the latest Addison and Associates Fine Art Catalogue would make him feel better. A number of fine pieces had caught his eye last quarter, and he hoped a few were still available, now that he had some discretionary cash available. He opened his door, stepped into the foyer, closed and locked the door behind him.

Savin was halfway down the hall to his study when he noticed the smell. He stopped, made a face and shook his head in annoyance. A rank, musky scent fouled the air. It reminded him of wet dogs. He looked about for the source of the offensive odor when he heard something ramble quickly down the stairs that led from the foyer to the second floor. A chilling shock, akin to being suddenly doused with ice water, slashed through him, and he spun around to face the foyer.

A wolf stared at him. It stood in the center of his foyer, peering back at him with golden eyes. It was huge, wide of shoulder, its head level with his waist. Black fur rippled across sleek, muscular haunches. Black lips peeled back to reveal yellowing teeth, gleaming sharply in the dim, afternoon light shining through the windows. It growled, a shudder running over its body. Wet, popping sounds echoed down the hall as its front legs began to swell and twist. It's paws flattened out, the toes lengthening and spreading apart. The wolf rose up on its hind legs, standing upright like a man.

Savin screamed. He fled down the hall for the sanctuary of his study, moving as fast as his sixty-year old frame could go, screaming the entire way. He thought he heard the wolf howl, but was not sure. It was hard for him to hear over his screams, over the panicked blood roaring in his ears. He reached the study's door, flung it open, ran in, slammed it closed. He locked and braced himself against it, waiting for the wolf's charge and praying he could hold the door against its strength. A minute passed, then another. He heard something walking in the hall, nails clicking against the hardwood floor, panting and growling. The wolf paced in front of the door now - Savin knew it. His heart raced in his chest like a caged hummingbird, and he desperately needed to urinate. The wolf scratched at the door, raking its claws deep into the wood. Savin whimpered, trying hard to remember the prayers of his youth. He heard the wolf pad away from the door. It howled, a great, piercing cry - fierce, monstrous, the sound of it cutting through his bones like a sword of ice, turning his marrow to water. Savin sobbed. "God save me," he whispered in Russian. "God save me."

"He can not save you, Stepan Ivashkaovich Savin," a deep voice rumbled behind him. "You are out of His hands, and caught tight in mine."

Savin froze stock still, becoming as immobile as iron statue. He closed his eyes, then slowly turned around, his motions jerky, as if he were being compelled against his will. He put his back to his door and opened his eyes.

A man sat behind his desk, leaning back in his patent leather chair. His shoulders were broad; his muscular arms swelled the blue, gold embroidered sleeves of his silken greatcoat almost to bursting. His large hands, gauntleted in leather, he held steepled before his massive chest. His head was covered in a blue hood and steel skullcap. A golden mask, wrought in the form of a smiling youth, concealed his face. Golden, pupiless eyes blazed in the mask's eyeholes, their merciless, inhuman gaze pinning Savin in place, skewering him with a palpable force akin to a cold steel sword. The man inclined his head slightly in greeting, like a _boyar_ acknowledging his serf. "I am Nikolai the Deathless. I believe you know who my father is."

"Oh God," Savin whispered. He fell to his knees, holding his hands before him in supplication.

"I suggest you move," Nikolai said. "My friend is impatient to enter." The study door shivered, its top hinge tearing out of the jamb. Savin scrambled to one side on hands and knees. The door shivered again. Its lock sundered and it crashed to the floor in flinders. The wolf loped into the study, tongue lolling out of its mouth, its eyes fixed on the cowering Savin. It fell back on all fours, its limbs twisting as it returned to a quadrupedal state. Savin stared back and forth between the wolf and Nikolai, quivering, trying desperately not to unman himself. Nikolai stood up and walked around the desk to Savin, his hands resting on the hilts of the sheathed blades, broadsword and poniard, hooked to his silver buckled belt. He loomed over the old man, covering him with shadow, his gaze pitiless.

"Koschei," said Savin in a whispered stutter, "he is awake..."

Nikolai nodded. "He has freed himself from the chains of banality that fettered him for nearly a century. Yet his imprisonment was not without profit. He has learned much, and now seeks the only sure promise all men receive from life..." Nikolai reached down, grabbed Savin by the collar of his shirt, and lifted him up into the air one-handed, effortlessly. Behind the mask Nikolai's golden eyes blazed. "Where is the Patriarch's Crosier?"

"I do not know!" Savin gasped. Nikolai shook him once and he cried out in pain.

"Do not dissemble, old man. We know it is in this city. We know that Dobrynski sent it to your father for safekeeping. We know that it is cloaked heavily against precise divination. I know that it is not in this house – I would have sensed it. Where is the Crosier?"

"I do not know!" Nikolai shook him again and with his free hand took hold of Savin's right forefinger.

"I will kill you in inches," whispered Nikolai as he squeezed gently. Savin gasped, then screamed.

"I do not know!" he sobbed out a third time. "I swear by Christ I do not! Papa hid it somewhere in the city, beneath the streets. He never told me where!"

"You are lying."

"It is the truth! For God's sakes, it is the truth!" Nikolai stared hard at the old man's face. It was flushed, tears running down his withered cheeks. The acrid scent of urine cloyed the air. Nikolai let go of Savin's fingers and dropped him. He scuttled into a corner and wept.

"What happens next," said Nikolai, "is on your father's head, Stepan Ivashkaovich." He turned on his heel and strode out of the study. The wolf padded towards the old man, licking its teeth, only to be checked when Nikolai called, "Danila, to me! Now!" It growled in frustrated hunger and ran quickly after its master. Savin stayed huddled in his corner, sobbing out prayers in Russian. "God save us from evil days. God save us from evil days..."

Nikolai tore the front door of Savin's house out of its jamb, threw it aside, and stalked out onto the top of the stairs leading down to Larkin Street. The house rested on a large concrete foundation, so it would sit levelly on the sloping hill Larkin ran up, lifting it fifteen feet above street level. Nikolai leapt high into the air and landed in the center of the street, making the ground tremble with the force of his impact. A rumble like thunder echoed up and down Larkin. A horn blared and breaks shrieked as a car coming down the hill desperately tried to stop before hitting him. Without looking Nikolai lashed out. His gauntleted left fist sheared through hood, engine block and axle. The car began to flip over, front over tail. Nikolai turned, pushed out with the flat of his right hand, slapping it against the car's roof and forcing the vehicle back down on its wheels. It lay inert, the front underside resting against the asphalt, oil and fluids bleeding from it, its horn bugling sickly. Its air bags were blown and its driver, a bruised young woman, hyperventilated behind the wheel. Nikolai turned away from the car and started down Larkin towards Greenwich, the wolf following after.

At the intersection of Larkin and Greenwich Nikolai halted. Pedestrians stopped to gawk at him and cars slowed down. The wolf joined him. Some of the gawkers turned and quickly walked away. Others began to scream when it transformed from quadruped to biped. The transformation continued further, the popping sounds made by his muscles and bones twisting and reforming becoming louder. The wolf became a tall young man, svelte, his tendons corded and prominent under the pale skin of his bare arms. His hair was like a stack of black straw and his golden eyes were bright and wild. He wore a wolf pelt for a shirt, doeskin breeches, and was barefoot. He looked around wildly, growling, expressing his dislike of this foreign environment.

"What now, Elder Brother?" said Danila Volkevich.

"Now we call the others," Nikolai answered. He looked up and down Greenwich, turned around to look up Larkin and gestured sharply, throwing out his right hand. Ten feet away a golden pillar of fire erupted, twisting into the sky. It split open, forming a portal, and from it stepped Solovey, Myedvyed Tsar and Vultariax, followed by a squad of _zalozhiny_ – musketeers, swordsmen and axemen.

"Did you find the Crosier, my _knyaz_?" called out Solovey. Nikolai shook his head.

"Ivashka hid it and did not tell his son where," he growled. "It could be located anywhere within San Francisco."

"So what do we do?" demanded Myedvyed Tsar.

"We go Cossack," Nikolai answered. "If I must burn this city down in its entirety in order to find the Crosier, I will." Nikolai clenched his fist. His eyes flashed red momentarily as the flames of the portal turned crimson. Scummy red lights kindled in the hollow eye sockets of the _zalozhiny. _Any of the unhallowed dead summoned through that portal now had their perception tied to Nikolai - if any of them came close to the Crosier, Nikolai would know. The sorcerer's son turned to survey the city before him. "Do not kill unnecessarily, but let no one stand in your way. Find the Crosier." The _zalozhiny_ hefted their weapons into the air, howled and scattered in all directions. More of their kindred poured through the portal

* * *

The Blackbird raced across the sky full throttle, the force of its speed pushing the X-Men back in their seats.

"If you keep this pace up, Scott, we're not going to be in any shape to take on Peter," Beast growled in protest.

"And if we don't move quickly, he's going to tear all of San Francisco apart," Cyclops replied through gritted teeth. "We're there in five minutes. We'll be all right."

"At least until we land," commented Frost. She had shifted to her diamond form for comfort, and was watching a read-out of news and police reports. "Peter's brought a small army with him. There are hundreds of those skeletons rioting through the streets. If we are not careful, we could get swamped."

"What else is new?" muttered Wolverine. "Five o' us against an army of the walking dead... least it'll be a fair fight." He turned his head to look at Shadowcat. "You okay, kid?" She nodded. She had not said a word since they learned of Peter's latest assault. She clutched tightly at the armrests of her chair, her eyes closed and her lips pursed in a hard, grim line as she girded herself for what lay ahead.

"We're here," Cyclops announced, easing off the throttle. Beast let out a sigh of relief. The Blackbird streaked over San Francisco Bay. The Bay Bridge passed beneath in a blur and they entered the boundaries of the sprawling city proper, heading towards Russian Hill. They made a swift pass over the area, Beast switching on the Blackbird's high-powered cameras.

The skeletons were everywhere, rampaging through the streets, overturning cars, invading houses and buildings, uprooting trees and shrubbery, pulling up manhole covers and crawling into the sewers. They steadfastly ignored the screaming civilian population fleeing them. Occasionally someone would attempt to defend their property or attacked the skeletons in fear or rage – such were dealt with quickly, usually in a non-lethal manner. The San Francisco Police Department, out-numbered and out-gunned, made no attempts to engage the invaders, instead concentrating their efforts on rescue and evacuation. Beast watched the pandemonium playing out on his monitor and whistled. "These boys must be from Detroit – the last time I saw such a wanton display of mindless violence was when the Pistons won the NBA Championship earlier this year."

"Not quite mindless - they're spreading out through the city systematically," Frost murmured, "combing through every street and structure in sight. They're looking for something."

"So are we," said Cyclops. "There's Peter. He's moving northwest, towards the Golden Gate Bridge. I'm bringing the Blackbird down ahead of him. We'll try to cut him off. I'm betting our best chance of stopping this will be by taking him down quick and hard."

"Easier said than done, Scott," Beast commented.

"Perhaps, but I think we have an ace in the hole – Shadowcat, your top priority is to get to Peter. You affect him in a way the rest of us don't; maybe you can talk him down or force him into a retreat. We'll run interference against Solovey and the others, keep them off your back. Can you deal with this?" Shadowcat bit her lower lip and nodded.

"And what if Petey don't freak out as easy today?" Wolverine asked.

"Then we do what we must to stop him," Cyclops answered grimly. "Here we go."

Solovey glanced up at the sky and spotted the jet flying past low. "We have some visitors, my _knyaz._"

Nikolai the Deathless watch the jet perform a vertical landing far down the street. "Heroes," he hissed. "The same ones we fought in New York... I know it." He clenched his right fist hard as his breathing turned harsh. His eyes momentarily flashed silver, then suddenly turned red. He swiveled south, staring hard down a side street. "The _zalozhiny_ have found the Crosier, a mile from here. It is shielded against them... Solovey, you and Vultariax take some _zalozhiny_. Go give our friends a warm reception. Myedvyed Tsar, Danila, with me."

Solovey's grin widened and he licked the flat of his saber. "With the greatest of pleasure, Prince of the Earth." He pointed at the Blackbird with his saber-tip and the _zalozhiny_ closest to him surged to attack. Vultariax shrieked and took flight, his massive, scintillating wings tolling like a cacophony of tower bells. Nikolai turned and headed south, the rest of his entourage fast on his heels.

Frost was the first X-Man out of the Blackbird, her diamond form providing cover for her teammates. She screened the entry ramp as the first of the _zalozhiny_ musketeers came within range, dropped to one knee and opened fire. Frost sneered, crossed her arms before her face and chest and took the hits, the energy reflecting off of her polished skin. Cyclops stepped out next, stepping to one side of Frost and sweeping the street with an optic blast, pulverizing the line of musketeers. He kept firing, destroying groups of skeletons as a great wave of _zalozhiny_ charged. He could not stop them all, but the rest of the X-Men were now out of the Blackbird and ready. The mass of animated bone crashed into them and the close fighting began. The _zalozhiny_ were numerous, tireless and skilled, but ultimately no match for the X-Men. Frost smashed through them with double-fisted sledgehammer blows while Cyclops blasted them into shards of filthy bone. Wolverine was a howling whirlwind of adamantium claws. Beast and Shadowcat danced amongst the unhallowed dead, downing them with power and grace. In less than two minutes the horde was destroyed.

Beast finished off the last two _zalozhiny_, cracking their skulls together, shattering them. He looked up the street and growled. "Heads up! Here comes the second wave, and they've brought some heavy guns." More _zalozhiny_ clattered towards them, moving in a straight line, clambering over or knocking aside any obstacle in their path. Solovey spearheaded them, running with prodigious speed, twirling his saber. To his right side and fifteen feet up in the air flew the Metal Bird, the beat of his wings like an amplified, discordant clashing of a thousand wind chimes. Cyclops moved to the front of his team and opened fire with concentrated blasts directed at Solovey. The bandit-troubadour dived under the first one, somersaulting on the asphalt and allowing the blast to piledrive through the front ranks of his un-living minions. The next two blasts he parried with flicks of his saber. "Heroes!" he called out, "we come bearing your deaths!" The Metal Bird landed beside him, straightened to his full height and unfurled his wings. A coruscating spectrum of blinding colors blazed forth, drawing in the X-Men's eyes, making their limbs sluggish and unresponsive. Frost, with her well-trained mind, shook the mesmerism off in a mere second. She shifted down to her human form and exerted her will to clear everyone of the entrancing effect. The Metal Bird reared back its raptor's head, a great snoring sound rumbling in its long throat, thrust its head forward and belched forth a Technicolor yawn. The X-Men scattered, dodging the spray of poisonous multi-chromatic vomit. Cyclops retaliated with an optic blast that caught the Metal Bird flush in its chest and knocked it head over feet, onto its stomach. Solovey let loose a short scream. The sonic wave washed over Cyclops, Frost and Beast, knocking them to their knees, stunning them. Solovey charged, determined to kill first the man and woman who had humiliated him in New York.

Shadowcat watched Solovey run towards her teammates, his saber raised to strike. Suddenly the sick fear gripping her vanished, and in its place an outraged anger kindled, enflaming her entire being. Her face flushed, her nostrils flared, her golden-brown eyes narrowed into glittering slits. Teeth bared she rushed Solovey. The blond swordsman spotted her, slid to a halt, directed a scream at her. Shadowcat dove and phased into the street, the sonic blast roaring above her ineffectually. Solovey started – he had not seen this aspect of Shadowcat's powers – and then she reappeared, flying at him. She struck him in the side of the face with a thrusting jump kick, knocking him on his back. She straddled him before he could recover, pinning him down, her left hand around his throat, her right hand raised back, fingers pointed.

"What did you do to him?" she screamed at Solovey, the anger inside of her now a raging inferno. "What did you do to Piotr? Tell me, Solovey Razboynik, or I swear to God I'll do Ilya Muromets one better and rip out _both_ of your eyes!"

Solovey grinned evilly at her. "So, you know of me. That is gratifying. For a German you are not completely uncultured." He surged and kicked Shadowcat off, sending her flying over his head. She rolled and landed gracefully. Solovey kipped to his feet, turned to face her, settling into an on-guard stance, his saber pointed at her. "As for the _knyaz_, we did nothing more than settle him into his rightful destiny." He slashed out at Shadowcat's neck.

Vultariax got to his feet with a metallic clatter, cursing and hissing, then spotted Wolverine rushing him. Wolverine threw an uppercut, attempting to eviscerate the demon. Vultariax dodged the claws then lashed downwards with an oversized fist. Wolverine flipped out of the way. The Canadian mutant paused for a moment, taking fresh stock of the abomination. He smiled wickedly.

"Gotta admit, you're one of the weirder specimens I've had the displeasure a' meetin', and I've seen some doozies. So what fairy tale did you crawl out of, bub?"

Vultariax hissed in anger. "I am no native of this miserable reality. I am Vultariax, a demon of Chaos. I am a mercenary, paid for my services by the Deathless, and I take my plunder in blood and souls!" His head lashed out, curved beak snapping at Wolverine. He dodged aside and countered, his claws slashing across the side of the beak, gouging the metal. Vultariax shrieked, more from outrage than pain.

"Mercenary, huh?" said Wolverine, his smile growing larger. "I've done a spell o' that. Hope Petey's giving you medical coverage – you're gonna need it." Wolverine threw himself at the demon.

Shadowcat dodged Solovey's first slash, phased through his second pass and countered with a straight punch. He hard blocked it aside, riposted with a sword punch and a sweeping low kick, both of which Shadowcat evaded. _Damn, he's good, _she thought. She launched a flurry of punches, trying to get in past Solovey's guard, but he avoided them all. Solovey prepared a thrust, but with a curse leapt back as a tightly focused optic blast separated the two combatants. He parried a second blast and leapt back further. Shadowcat turned her head and saw Cyclops back on his feet, waving furiously at her to go. "Remember your objective, Shadowcat! Find Peter. Emma, Beast, go with her. Wolverine and I will deal with the situation here!" He fired another blast at Solovey. Shadowcat nodded and started running away from the battle, Beast and Frost speeding after her.

"_Zalozhiny_! Do not let them pass. Keep them from the _knyaz_!" Solovey screamed as he barely ducked a fourth optic blast. He let loose a sonic shout. Cyclops rolled out of its way.

Nikolai the Deathless walked towards the line of _zalozhiny _standing at attention. They had cleared the street, sending all of its residents in flight south towards Cow Hollow and Pacific Heights. The _zalozhiny_ parted for Nikolai. He strode pass them, Danila and Myedvyed Tsar at his flanks. He surveyed the street, his eyes raking across the pavement, and nodded to himself.

"It is here, underground, somewhere within the next half-mile. It is shielded – nothing I can not breach." Nikolai turned and looked back up the street; the sound of musket fire echoed back to them. Myedvyed Tsar growled, rising up on his hind legs, towered twelve feet high.

"I smell them," he grumbled, teeth bared, froth dripping from his muzzle. "The cat-ape and that slip of a girl..."

"These heroes are damnably persistent," muttered Nikolai. "Take Danila and keep them off my back. I will not be long." He struck the street, his punch booming like a thunderclap, shattering a hole down to the tunnels below. He punched again, widening the hole, then jumped down. Myedvyed Tsar dropped on all fours and ran eagerly towards the melee, Danila Volkevich and the _zalozhiny_ racing after him.

Shadowcat, Frost and Beast rushed down a side street, the last place they had spotted Peter heading before they exited the Blackbird. Knots of _zalozhiny_ attempted to stop them, but proved ineffectual. Shadowcat ignored them, passing through them in her ephemeral state, while Beast and Frost cleaned up as quickly as they could behind.

Shadowcat skidded to a halt, watching a new horde of attackers making a beeline for her, Myedvyed Tsar in the lead, moving with incredible speed for something his size. Grimacing, she waited until the massive ursine was almost on top of her, then phased down through the pavement. With a roar, Tsar tried to lumber to a stop and ran straight into a screaming right hook thrown by Frost. Tsar staggered, got punched again, dropped on his side and rolled away. He rose up on his hind legs, shaking his head. His wits cleared and his beady pig eyes focused on Frost. She posed before him arrogantly, her eyes narrowed slits, her lips pursed in a contemptuous sneer. Myedvyed Tsar roared and waded toward her, dropping down to crush her beneath his claws.

Shadowcat pulled herself out of the pavement, in time to be surrounded by a dozen _zalozhiny_, with more coming. She swore to herself – she could phase through them, but she didn't want Frost and Beast overrun while they dealt with the Bear King. An axeman stepped up from behind and attempted to brain her. Shadowcat sidestepped, caught the skeleton's arm and flipped him into two of his brethren. The other _zalozhiny_ screamed and attacked. She dodged, twisted, phased and countered, taking them down as fast as she could, but she was in dire threat of being pulled down herself by sheer weight of numbers. Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted a bulky blue form hurl through the air. The Beast landed feet first on a musketeer taking aim at Shadowcat, crushing him. A swordsman cut at him with a downward strike, but he dodged it easily and knocked the skeleton's head off with an uppercut any heavyweight contender would kill for. Two more _zalozhiny_ tried to cut him down from behind and he sundered both at once with a spinning heel kick.

"Get going, Shadowcat," Beast ordered. "Let Emma and I handle this." Shadowcat nodded, kicked a _zalozhiny_ out of her way and ran out of the melee. A young man in wolf skin moved to intercept her. He was fast, faster than she was, and attempted to shoulder tackle her. In mid air his features writhed and elongated; he transformed into a humanoid wolf, jaws opened wide and slavering. Shadowcat gasped, surprised by the transformation, but only for a split-second. She phased and the wolfen passed through her, somersaulted and was swiftly on his feet, growling at her. Before he could attack again the Beast jumped onto him, grappling him, taking him down to the pavement. They rolled about, the wolfen howling and yelping, Beast swearing. Shadowcat hesitated for a moment then ran from the fight, focusing her mind on the task of finding Peter.

* * *

Nikolai the Deathless walked along the tunnel slowly, turning his head side to side, his golden eyes glowing in the murk. He sniffed carefully at the stagnant air, stretched out with his sorcerous perception. The Crosier was close at hand. He was practically on top of it. He paused, took a few steps forward, paused again, looking first at the left wall of the tunnel, then the right, his large hands clenching and unclenching. He strode to the left wall and punched it. The section he struck crumbled, revealing a hidden compartment. From it he pulled out a staff, five feet long. It was made of pure silver, carved vines of ivy twining up and down its length. Nikolai examined it carefully, running his fingers along its length. On the top of the staff a screw slot had been hollowed out. Nikolai nodded to himself, unstrung a small pouch from his belt and opened it. He slipped the end of the staff into the pouch and thrust it down. Incredibly, the pouch swallowed the entire staff. He shook the pouch once and retied it to his belt.

"Peter..."

Nikolai turned at the sound of that voice – a soft soprano murmur. There stood the young woman from the museum, her delicate face pale and ineffable, her eyes shimmering with fear, sorrow and determination. Nikolai's own eyes narrowed. Something empty within him yawned open. A sense of familiarity began to suffuse his being. His eyes flared from gold to silver, and the swelling recognition vanished, was forgotten. All he saw now was an enemy, waiting to be slain...

"So," Nikolai rumbled. "You have managed to get past my _druzhina._"

"Piotr," Shadowcat said again. She held out a hand in entreaty. "I don't want to fight with you. Talk to me, please."

"Is your memory a sieve? I told you before, I know of no Piotr. I am Nikolai the Deathless, and we have nothing to discuss." He advanced on her, his silver eyes bright behind his mask.

_Oh shit,_ Shadowcat thought, going intangible as Nikolai struck out at her, throwing a blistering straight left that cracked the air. It hissed through her. Nikolai followed up with a right hook. She ducked underneath it, caught the sleeve of his coat, turned on her heel and threw him. Nikolai rolled in the air, landed on his feet with ease and lashed out with a back thrust kick, Shadowcat barely skipping back out of its way. She frowned fiercely. Wolverine had been right - Peter was a far better fighter now than he had been previously. She stepped in towards him, hammered him in the chest with a lightening fast sequence of punches. She would have fared better punching concrete. Nikolai grunted in annoyance and slashed her with a forearm shiver. She phased through the attack and jumped away, falling into a ready stance. Nikolai did not press, instead letting his arms fall to his sides and assumed a deceptively relaxed posture. Shadowcat was not fooled. She watched him warily, waiting for his next move.

"It's a stalemate, Peter," she said, slightly breathless from their brief but intense exchange. "I can't hurt you, and you can't touch me. Please, there's a better way than this. Talk to me."

Nikolai did not answer. He took hold of the hilt of his broadsword and drew it, the steel blade rasping free of the hard leather scabbard with an ominous hiss. He cut a figure-eight pattern in the air, handling the sword with talented finesse. He held it on guard before him and his silver eyes flared brighter. "My father forged this sword long ago. It cuts both flesh and spirit. Let us see how well you fair against it." He stepped forward, raising the sword over his head and slashed down at Shadowcat.

"Damn it!" she swore, dodging. The sword crashed against and cracked the concrete floor of the tunnel. Nikolai struck again, with a horizontal swing. Shadowcat ducked beneath it, felt the blade clip off the tip of her ponytail. She grimaced violently. Her heart was pounding and she felt fear's cold hands grasp at her throat. She knew she should retreat – whatever had happened between her and Peter at the Met didn't seem to want to put on an encore now. She wasn't a match for him, not without resorting to something drastic, and he could kill her with that sword. Hell, he didn't even need the sword to hurt her; he was fast enough that he could eventually catch her in phase with a barehanded strike, and that would be the end. She spun away from a backhand stroke, the tip of Nikolai's broadsword missing her by the thickness of her skin. Her common sense was screaming at her to get out of here and go get help. She refused to listen, refused to run. Somewhere, buried deep inside, Nikolai – Piotr – knew her, remembered her. She would not stop until she managed to call those hidden memories forth, even if the effort cost her life. Peter was her friend, and more... she owed it to him, owed it to her self, to try.

Nikolai cut at Shadowcat's head then struck at her legs. She ducked the first blow, leapt away from the second. Nikolai growled, his patience wearing thin. He circled his illusive opponent, searching for a gap in her formidable defenses. His silver eyes narrowed suddenly into slits and he lunged with a skewering thrust. Shadowcat stepped into his lunge, slapping his wrist aside and striking up at his chin with her palm. She connected, jarring his mask so that it pushed up, covering his eyes. Nikolai hissed and fell back. Suddenly he stomped down hard with his foot and the tunnel shook as if in the throes of an earthquake. Shadowcat gasped, surprised by the shockwave, lost her footing and fell down, cracking the back of her head against the ground. Lights exploded before her eyes. Her fighting instincts howled at her, urging her to get up and away, but her limbs would not respond. Her vision cleared and she saw Nikolai's blade arcing down at her head.

"The Devil take it!" roared Nikolai as he wrenched his mask from his face and hurled it aside. He spotted his opponent down, stunned by his shockwave. Hissing in triumph, he stepped towards her, sword raised, and swung down at her head, determined to dispatch her and rid himself of one bothersome opponent. But in mid-stroke his arm spasmed; something roared in his mind. His face twisted and he turned aside his attack. His sword bit deep into concrete, missing the young woman's ear by a mere inch. She screwed her eyes shut, turned her head, shuddered, and looked back up at Nikolai. She was breathing heavily, and he could smell fear wafting from her body. Something fluttered in his chest. His throat began to clench, and it became difficult to breathe. He stared deep into her gold-brown eyes and a strange heat coursed through his body. In his mind he felt a barrier he had been unaware of wrench open. He remembered the visions, the ones that had came to him in New York, haunted him when he tried to meditate in the fire cavern. He gasped harshly and stepped back, trembling head to foot.

Shadowcat stared up at Nikolai. His mask was gone. The black, curving thorn tattoos were stark against his pale face. He was breathing heavily, harshly. His limbs shivered. He shook his head and stepped away from her. A deep groan escaped his lips. Shadowcat sat up, continued to watch him. Nikolai's shoulders started to shake and he groaned again. With his free hand he pushed off his steel skullcap, threw back his blue hood, freeing his mane of jet-black hair. He shook his head sharply, closed his silver eyes. He opened them and stared hard at Shadowcat. His eyes were golden, and they swiftly darkened to a familiar, deep blue.

"Piotr..." Shadowcat whispered, unsteadily getting up to her feet. Nikolai shook his head and stepped further away, his face contorted in a strange, peculiar look of fearful longing.

"Who are you?" he rasped out. "Who are you, that you can make me feel this way, shattered and empty, turning my strength into weakness? I know you... I do not know how, but I know you. Your name is... is... what is your name?"

"You know it, Peter," Shadowcat whispered. "I'm Kitty... Katya."

Nikolai closed his eyes again as the visions raced through his mind, renewed and more potent than ever. The young woman burned across his thought, slender and beautiful, glorious in her joy for life. And there, almost as prominent, was the blond girl, who he now sensed was of his blood. Memories of her as a teenager and as a young girl, barely more than a handful of summers old, flashed before him. Others visions clamored for his attention – a beautiful dark-skinned woman with silken white hair and cat-like, azure eyes; a man, somewhat older than he; with the body of a devil and the heart of an angel; a short, gruff man, powerfully built, with feral eyes...

Nikolai's eyes snapped open. They shone bright gold. He threw back his head and screamed, just as he did at the Met, venting loose a cry of uncomprehending sorrow and loss. He crouched and jumped, plowing up through the street, nearly caving in the tunnel. Shadowcat staggered back, regained her footing, then phased and chased after her fleeing, tormented friend, her face etched into a mask of resolve. This time she would not let him get away.

* * *

His grin pain-wracked, Wolverine threw himself at Vultariax. Theirs had been a running battle, Wolverine and Cyclops moving to join up with their teammates, while Solovey, Vultariax and the _zalozhiny_ fought hard to stop them. Cyclops and Wolverine had succeeded in finding Beast and Frost, but not without cost. Wolverine had been hit numerous times. Half of his cowl had been ripped away and his face was a bloody mess. Earlier Vultariax had managed to bite into him, his beak tearing deep into Wolverine's shoulder. The Chaos Demon was in no better shape, his alien, metallic body scored in dozens of places, his wounds dripping strange, spectrum-shifting ichor. Out of the corner of his eye Wolverine spotted Cyclops - a long, shallow cut running across his chest, his left arm hanging limply, numbed from a sword punch – blasting away at Solovey. The bandit-troubadour's nose bled profusely, and his crimson costume was in shreds. Myedvyed Tsar had Frost caught in a rib-crushing hug. Frost hammered at his shoulders, trying to force him to drop her, but he refused to relent. Slowly but surely, her breath was being squeezed out. Beast sparred with Peter's new henchman, the wolfen, who constantly shifted form from biped to quadruped, using whatever form was at the moment most advantageous. Both combatants were evenly matched – neither had yet managed to score a serious wound. All the _zalozhiny_ in the area were destroyed, but Wolverine knew more would come. They needed to finish this fight soon.

Wolverine dodged a sledgehammer blow and rolled under Vultariax's snapping beak. "Time ta put you ta bed!" The Canadian mutant struck up with both fists, his claws impaling the Chaos Demon, piercing up through Vultariax's stomach, under his ribs and thrusting deep into his heart cavity. Vultariax reared up his two-foot long neck and screamed, multi-colored bile gushing from the corners of his mouth. Wolverine yanked free his claws and stepped to the side as Vultariax fell like a lumbered redwood.

Suddenly the ground quaked and a section of the street the battle raged on exploded, sending chunks of asphalt spraying everywhere. Wolverine threw up his arm to shield his face. Then he spotted Nikolai rushing towards him, falling through the air, his broadsword held over his head with both hands, the steel blade flashing with the afternoon sunlight.

"OH SHIT!" Wolverine roared, trying to leap away, but was too late. Nikolai hit the pavement with a thunderous crash, simultaneously striking down and cutting Wolverine open from sternum to groin. Wolverine screamed and toppled back, rendered unconscious by the shock to his system.

"The game is over, heroes!" Nikolai shouted. He turned towards Cyclops, who had just winged Solovey with an optic blast. Nikolai struck the street hard with his sword, projecting a wave of force at the X-Men's leader that knocked him off of his feet, sent him flying back into the wall of a tenement. He bounced off and lay on his stomach, stunned. Nikolai pivoted, facing down the street, and gestured. Twenty feet away a golden pillar of flame ignited, spiraling high above the surrounding buildings. "I have the Crosier! Time to go!" Nikolai grabbed the inert form of Vultariax by the base of his neck, hefting the massive body with ease, and hurled him underhanded into the column. The fire roared higher and the Chaos Demon vanished. Myedvyed Tsar raised Frost over his head, dashed her to the ground. Danila Volkevich dropped kicked the Beast, turned fully wolf, and dashed for the pillar. He and the great ursine reached it at the same time and teleported out. Next came Solovey, limping as fast as he could, swearing under his panting breath. Nikolai shook the blood off of his sword, sheathed it, strode towards his gate. Half way to the fire he jerked to a stop, his left foot pinned to the ground. He looked down and saw Shadowcat, half-phased through the street, her arms wrapped around his muscular leg, her face set in a look of ferocious determination. Nikolai stared at her, his golden eyes momentarily darkening to blue. Silver filmed over them. He blinked and his eyes were gold again. He raised his left fist, hesitated, then brought it crashing down. Shadowcat released him and phased back through the street in plenty of time to escape the strike.

Nikolai straightened up and was suddenly struck in the back by an optic blast. Off-balance and unawares, he was sent sprawling. He attempted to rise and was blasted further across the street. Nikolai tore a chunk of pavement loose and threw it at Cyclops with all his might. Cyclops folded himself backwards, lost his footing and fell on his back. The missile screamed over him and exploded like a grenade against a parked car, tearing out a headlight and the grill. Nikolai got to his feet, attempted to jump and found himself unable to move, Shadowcat again grabbing hold of his leg. Again he hesitated before trying to kick her with his free foot, telegraphing his attack and allowing her the opportunity to evade. He heard an ear-splitting howl and turned in time to see Wolverine - his eviscerating wound healed - charging him, moving with the speed of a bullet. Before Nikolai could react he was raked across the face, the chest, felt Wolverine punch him in both knees, shattering his kneecaps and severing the ligaments. Golden blood sprayed in the air. Nikolai screamed in agony, fell on his butchered knees. He struck Wolverine with a straight punch, generating enough force to knock the X-Man far down the street. Nikolai's wounds ignited, knitting magically shut in gouts of golden flame. He reeled up drunkenly and was punched in the back of the head by Frost. He staggered away from her, turned around and into a punch across the jaw. Frost threw a third punch. Nikolai caught this one, his large hand wrapping around Frost's slender wrist. He punched her in the stomach; she doubled over, gasping, and he threw her out of his way. Cyclops knocked him down with an optic blast. Nikolai struck at the ground, directing a shock wave at Cyclops, who dodged. Nikolai got up, tried for the pillar again, and again was caught in phase by Shadowcat. As he turned to deal with her she let go and slipped away, just as Wolverine ran past behind him. Adamantium claws flashed and Nikolai dropped to his knees a second time, hamstrung. An optic blast drilled him square between the shoulders, drove him down onto his face. He roared in outrage and pushed himself up, throwing himself into the air by the strength of his arms alone. His wounds blazed closed and he landed gracefully on his feet. Cyclops blasted him in the chest and Wolverine followed up with a flurry of claws. Nikolai reeled.

_Scott, Logan, Pryde, keep dog-piling him. Hank has an idea._ Emma Frost finished her telepathic projection and turned to the Beast wearily. "Are you sure about this, Beast?"

"Hey, I figure if it worked on an ionicly powered madman, it should work against a sorcerously empowered one."

"I'm not the Vision, Hank."

"True, but Peter ain't Nefaria, either. We got him rocked, but we need something big to put him down, and this is the best way I can come up with on short notice. Now we got to do this quick before he decides to stop trying to get away and goes on a serious offensive. Are you ready?"

Frost grimaced. She was not looking forward to this. Though she knew the effort was futile, she reached out again telepathically, searching for some chink in Peter's mental defenses. She found nothing. Whatever was cloaking his mind, it was well beyond the grasp of her formidable psionic abilities. She sighed. "All right, I'm ready."

Beast nodded. He squatted, taking hold of Frost by the back of her costume and one of her ankles. He steadily watched the battle rampaging nearby, carefully gauging the distance. He looked up at Frost then back at the fight. Unexpectedly, he smirked. "Anyone ever tell you that you have a nice ass, Emma?"

"Yes. Scott has. Several times, in fact. Now will you please stop ogling it and get this over with?"

"All right. Alllley OOP!" The Beast gritted his teeth, surged up with a yell and threw Frost high in the air with all the might he could muster. With a gasp he dropped to a knee, drained by the heroic exertion, and watched Frost fly a hundred feet into the air. Her ascent began to slow and she started to arc. As she descended she transformed into her diamond form. She dove down headfirst gracefully, her fists extended out in front of her, aiming herself straight for Nikolai.

Nikolai slammed Wolverine aside with a back fist, crossed his arms to block an optic blast and grunted when Cyclops redirected his aim, shooting under Nikolai's guard and blasting him in the stomach. He doubled over slightly, started to reach for his sword. As powerful as he was, he was swiftly being worn down. The _zmei_ blood that flowed in his veins quickly healed his wounds, but could not stave off his growing fatigue. He had to stop holding back. Since he started these raids into the mortal world on his father's orders, for reasons he could not articulate, he had tried to keep bloodshed to a minimum, commanding his henchmen strenuously not to kill. Now this hazily understood scruple was costing him dearly. He dragged his sword half-free, then paused. His fighting instincts were warning him of something. He looked up and saw a glittering form hurtling down at him. Frost rammed into Nikolai, striking him in the chest and driving him down into the pavement with the force of a high yield tactical bomb. The street cratered and for a hundred yards all around every piece of intact glass shattered. The X-Men froze, stunned by the violence of the hit, then converged on the crater. The pillar of golden flame guttered and vanished.

Frost got up groggily, staggered out of the crater. Nikolai was flat on his back, struggling to rise. He coughed, vomited golden blood and fell slack, his eyes closing shut, his wounds steaming as they slowly healed. Frost shifted back to her human form. Her legs gave out and she dropped. Cyclops caught her before she hit the pavement. Shadowcat ran to Nikolai's side. She knelt by him, touched his neck. His pulse was strong and his breathing was regular, if a trifle shallow. She sighed in relief. Wolverine watched everything, taking in deep breaths through his nose. He relaxed his hands, allowing his claws to sheathe. Beast stood at the edge of the crater, scratching the back of his head. He looked carefully at each of his teammates, one after the other. He grinned, a little crazily. "Hot diggity damn... we got him..."

* * *

I've just had a horde of ravening undead wreck northern San Francisco, and I feel _good_!

For those of you not aware, I wrote an X-Men story called _Old Enough_, which, while stands alone perfectly fine, is something of a side-story to _Deathless._ Go check it out, if you have the inclination.

Darkstorm5000 and Dark-bat – Glad you enjoyed _Old Enough_. Not much good Kitty/Peter stuff around, is there? I'll see if I can rectify that a bit, in the future.

B – I'm happy that my story cheered you up a little during a bad time. Such a sentiment makes writing worthwhile.

Kirayoshi – Thanks for the kind words. Here's the next chapter of _Deathless_. As for what happens to Nikolai and Kitty after this tale comes to an end, I'll just have to ask you to wait and be patient. We still have a long road ahead.

I've just realized that, with the last chapter, _Deathless_ has become the longest piece of fiction I've ever written. This chapter alone is almost as long as my Ranma ½ one shot, _Dreams..._ _Deathless_ has become something of a landmark for me. Here's hoping I can keep it up.

Next up: _Deathless_ Chapter 5 – The Chained Dragon.

Thanks for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	7. Chapter 5 The Chained Dragon

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 5 – The Chained Dragon

Scott Summers sighed and rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, a shower and some coffee, but decided that those could wait a bit longer. One by one, he carefully handled the items arrayed before him on the examination table: a broadsword and a poniard, a small but impossibly voluminous pouch, and finally a silver wrought staff. Scott examined this last piece closely, from one end of it to the other, rolling it in his hands. He had no doubt that this was what Nikolai had torn through northern San Francisco looking for. Now if only he knew why the hell Nikolai wanted it, and what connection it had with the icon stolen from the Met in New York. He heard footsteps behind them, turned he head and saw Emma walk into the storage chamber. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," he answered, placing the staff back on the table and turning to face her. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Remarkably, yes. I was more stunned than actually hurt. A good night's sleep was all I needed." She smiled wickedly, wrapped her arms about his neck and bussed him softly on the lips. "Though I can think of something that would have helped me even more."

Scott smirked. "Sorry I couldn't oblige last night, but having an immobile arm and cut chest sort of limits one's options."

"We could have worked around it... but no matter. You do seem remarkably spry, considering you went ten rounds with a murderous Russian swordsman who can kill with a shout."

"It's all thanks to clean living, Emma. Though, I'll admit, having access to Shi'ar medical technology doesn't hurt." He curled his arms about her, resting his hands on the small of her back. He pressed her shapely form against his body and kissed her deeply. Emma sighed softly in contentment.

"I take it I won't need to break out the nurse's uniform for tonight," Emma commented when they broke the kiss.

"Only if you want to," said Scott. "But first –"

"- Business before pleasure." Emma looked at the table. "Peter's gear?"

Scott nodded, let Emma go and slipped out of her arms. He turned back to the table and picked up the staff with both hands. "Along with what he was searching for."

Emma peered at the artifact closely. "It's exquisite. Is it solid silver?"

"Except for a six inch slot driven in on this end, yes. Hank is of the opinion that this staff is priceless. He's definitely sure a master silversmith made it." Scott sighed and placed the staff back on the table. "Do you think it's a bad sign that those facts don't impress me?"

"Considering all the things you've seen I'm amazed that you _can_ be impressed. Do you or Hank have any inkling why Peter wanted it?"

"Nope. Not one clue between the both of us. We're fumbling around in the dark. Kitty's been checking those online Russian folklore archives she's been using for research, but she hasn't run across any reference to any such staff yet."

"Perhaps it has a historic significance, instead of a mythical one."

Scott nodded. "I've thought of that. When Hank gets a moment he's going to see if that art dealer, Dobrynski, ever handled anything like it. If so, we'll start paying him some more attention. Maybe his estate will have something to tell us. It'll be nice if they did – I'd like to know what the hell is going on."

"Have you interrogated Peter yet?"

"He's still out of it. Considering all the tranquilizers we pumped into him, so he wouldn't come to on the Blackbird, I wouldn't be surprised if he stayed unconscious for the next week." Scott's beeper started to buzz. He checked it and read the text message from Hank. "Then again, I have been known to be wrong." He gathered up the items on the table, set them neatly on the racks in an open vault, then closed and locked its door. He punched in an alpha-numeric code on the keypad next to the vault. A force field hummed to life, reinforcing the sturdy titanium steel door and lock. He turned to Emma, took a deep breath. "This is going to be fun," he muttered.

"You can handle this, Scott."

"I know... Let's go say 'good morning' to Peter..."

* * *

Nikolai the Deathless roared in outrage and lashed out. The force field baring him in his cell flared, buckled and shimmered beneath the impact of his blow. He struck the field again and again, his gauntleted fists sweeping blurs. Hank watched a read-out, made a face and typed furiously at his console. Logan leaned against a wall, smoking, watching without expression Nikolai rage. Logan pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket, lit a match against the wall and started to smoke. He looked over at Scott and Emma. "Temperamental cuss, ain't he?" Emma could not help but nod in agreement. Scott said nothing. He watched Nikolai in frowning silence.

Nikolai stopped his futile assault on the force field and rushed backwards, ramming the metal back wall of his cell with an elbow. Another force field flared, absorbing the impact. Nikolai attacked the wall on his right with a back fist, struck the left with a thrusting side kick. Both blows were dampened by force fields. Nikolai paced back and forth, his burning, golden eyes locked on the X-Men outside of his cell. He stopped, turned to face them squarely. He hissed, canting his head slightly. He shucked off his gauntlets, threw them aside, divested himself of his tattered greatcoat and tore off the white, gold bloodstained poet's blouse he wore beneath. Scott and Emma stared at the black thorn-vine tattoos curling around his arms, forming an intricate arabesque on the sculpted, muscular planes of his torso. With a thump Nikolai sat into a lotus position, resting his hands on his knees. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Scott went over to Hank, keeping his back to Nikolai and speaking in a low tone. "How's the cell's integrity?"

Hank grimaced and answered in the same low tone, his mouth screened from Nikolai by the monitor. "It held – barely. I had to allocate extra power from the Institute's generators, so we may have some problems with other systems around the mansion. Logan wasn't kidding about how strong Peter is. This cell was designed to contain Cain Marko at the height of his powers, and Peter nearly broke it."

"How about his gating ability?"

"I set up a scrambling field blanketing all known inter-spatial conduit frequencies. I wasn't too sure it would work on Peter, but, first thing when he came to, he tried to open a gate and couldn't. He suffered some sort of biofeedback shock – pissed him off to no end. That's why he was throwing a fit when you and Emma came in."

"So we have him."

"For the present."

Scott clapped Hank on the shoulder. "Good work, Hank." Hank grinned wearily.

"I please ta aim." He yawned and stretched. "I've been up all night, either tending to you in the med tank or running scans on Peter. I need to crash. Have fun." He got up from his station and left the med lab.

Scott walked back next to Emma. He looked at Nikolai for a long while in silence, rubbing his chin as he thought. Finally he spoke. "Peter."

Nikolai did not answer.

"Peter."

Emma spoke up. "Nikolai."

Nikolai opened his eyes. He smiled without warmth or humanity. "So, you heroes _can_ be taught..."

Scott followed Emma's example. "I have some questions to ask you, Nikolai." Nikolai growled something in Russian.

"What did he say?" Emma asked.

"He told me to go fuck myself."

Emma shook her head. "Such invective..." she murmured.

Logan clucked his tongue. "I thought we raised the boy better than that, Cyke."

"I thought so, too. Evidently he's fallen in with evil companions."

"Go ahead," said Nikolai. "Enjoy yourselves. Laugh. Revel in your victory over me while you can – I will kill you all at my earliest convenience."

"You haven't had much luck with that chore so far, bub," replied Logan. Nikolai glared at him.

"I haven't tried very hard yet."

"First time we fought, you lit me up like a Christmas tree. Second time, you gutted me, and despite all that, I'm still alive and you're in the stir. I don't think your hardest will be enough, Nick."

"Third time will be the charm."

"Well, until that day, Petey, I won't be holdin' my breath." Logan flicked the stub of his cigar at the cell. It hit the force field and disintegrated with a flash.

"Enough," interjected Scott. "What are you up to, Nikolai? Are you working for yourself, or is there someone behind you?"

Nikolai looked at Scott contemptuously.

"Why did you steal the icon from the Metropolitan Museum in New York?"

Nikolai hawked and spat to one side.

"Why did you tear up half of San Francisco looking for that staff we found on you?"

Nikolai hissed at the mention of the staff, his eyes narrowing. He regained his composure and smiled again. "You are amusing, hero. Asking me these questions, expecting me to reveal all my mysteries, while having no means to compel me."

"We have a means," said Scott. "We can destroy your staff."

The smile left Nikolai's face. He looked at Scott hard. "I think that task is beyond your scope," he said finally.

"Wanna bet, Petey?" asked Logan.

Nikolai closed his eyes. He remained still for a long time. The X-Men waited in silence. Finally Nikolai nodded to himself and opened his eyes. "It will cause no harm, throwing you a bone... We are seeking seeds."

"Seeds?" echoed Scott.

"Yes. Seeds that will blossom into a glorious future... the first seed, we have. The second –"Nikolai gave Scott an evil grin "- I will soon reclaim. The third we will find in due course. Once they are all gathered," he trailed off and shrugged.

"What will happen?" Scott prompted.

"That will keep for now. Who knows? Perhaps by some miracle you will live long enough to see for yourself."

Scott glanced at Emma, then Logan. Emma shook her head, frowning. Logan shrugged and lit up another cigar. Scott looked back at Nikolai. "Who does this 'we' include? Are there just you and your henchmen, or are others helping you?"

"You are greedy," said Nikolai as he shut his eyes. "Dogs should only be fed once a day."

* * *

"Seeds?" said Hank.

"That's what Peter called them," Scott replied.

"He must have meant it in an metaphorical sense."

"Ya can never tell, with magic," said Logan. "Wonder what sorta fruit you'd get from a silver staff..."

"Probably none that will bode well for the world, if Peter's henchmen are any indication of its nature." Hank made a face and sipped his coffee. "I _hate_ dealing with magic. It's almost impossible to predict."

Scott's team had gathered in the living room again for their meeting, right after dinner. On the way there Kitty had wondered out loud why they weren't using the War Room or the Danger Room for their meetings. Logan had responded by saying that the chairs were more comfortable, the beers closer and _anything_ was better than enduring the strange backdrops the Danger Room had been constructing lately. Kitty found Logan's reasons eminently logical.

Scott took a pull from his bottle of beer. "Whether metaphorical or literal, I'd like to know _what_ sort of future Peter's working towards. Kitty, have you had any luck with your researches?"

Kitty put down her chocolate milk, wiped her mouth with a napkin and shook her head. "Nada, Scott. There are all sorts of magic gifts and items in Russian folklore – 'wondrous wonders, marvelous marvels' and the like. Enchanted dolls, golden balls that lead you infallibly to a place, cloaks of invisibility, but I haven't run across a single mention of a silver, ivy wrapped staff."

"So the chances are good that it's a historical artifact. Hank, try to find out if Fyodor Dobrynski ever owned that staff during his lifetime. The history of such a valuable piece should be easy to track. Maybe we'll be able to discern why Peter wanted it."

"I'll get on it. But what if Dobrynski never brokered it?"

"Then we'll have to do some deeper research, but I'm betting Dobrynski did handle it. You said yourself he dealt with some very valuable art treasures, and the staff falls squarely in that category. While you're doing that, I'll check the San Francisco Police Department's reports on Peter's attack. He and his minions were searching – they didn't know the staff's exact position. We may be able to glean a clue if we find out and investigate the location where he initially manifested."

"Sounds like a bit o' a long shot, Scott," said Logan.

"I agree, but I don't think with this we can afford to miss taking any shots, long or short. If I discover anything worth the trip, Emma and I will fly back out to San Francisco. Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Just the most pressing issue," said Emma. "What do we do with Peter?"

"It's no issue," said Kitty, a bit sharply. "We hold him here until we figure out a way to restore his memory."

"While his henchmen are still at large such is impractical and dangerous, Miss Pryde," Emma replied. "Also, I do not see how we can accomplish such a feat right now. You have no comprehension of the breadth and power of his mental cloak. After constant effort, I can just _barely _discern his presence with great effort, and nothing more. His thought is impregnable to me, and as powerful and skilled as Xavier is, I greatly doubt even he will be able to do much better."

"Then I'll find a way to do it. I have a rapport with him. I'll get him to remember."

Emma shook her head. "Whatever has its claws in him is tenacious. It could take you days, maybe weeks, before you make the smallest breakthrough. Every passing moment he is here, the danger to this school grows. The cell we set up barely managed to hold him. Peter is quiet for now, but he may be mustering his strength for an escape attempt. He also has access to magic, and we do not yet know his full capabilities. There's also the matter of his henchmen. Do you think that they'll sit tight, while we hold him prisoner? The Institute is no longer a secret – it will be easy for them to track us down and attack."

"The school has always been at risk, even before the Professor declared himself openly."

"With Peter on the premises the threat of attack rises to an intolerable level."

"Between this team and the other X-Men we aren't exactly defenseless, Miss Frost. We can handle anything that's thrown at us."

"We do not know that for certain. There were hundreds of skeletons attacking San Francisco. We faired well against them, but we only fought a fraction of their number. Do you honestly believe that we can repel a full-scale attack by that many without casualties? And that isn't even taking into consideration the fact that the beings leading them are as powerful as any X-Man currently active."

The atmosphere of the room had grown charged and intense. Emma and Kitty's voices had risen steadily throughout their debate and they were both glaring hard at each other. Logan watched with narrowed eyes. Hank's face was set in a pained grimace. Scott took a deep breath and sighed. "What do you think we should do, Emma?"

Emma looked at Scott, her expression gentling. "I suggest that we put Peter into deep storage. I have numerous contacts throughout the globe. I'll call in some markers and we will transport Peter to a place that is better suited to hold and guard him."

"No," snapped Kitty. "Absolutely _not_! There is no way in hell I'm gonna allow Peter to be handed over to anyone _you've_ had business dealings with, Frost."

"That isn't your decision to make, Pryde," Emma answered flatly. "And my contacts can be trusted." Kitty snorted in disdain.

"I bet they can. Who are you going to call, Sebastian Shaw? HYDRA? Some Maggia don? A.I.M. maybe? I'm sure Advanced Idea Mechanics would just _love_ to get their grubby hands on someone like Peter."

"Don't be anymore asinine than you usually are. I suggest you stop thinking with your pants, Pryde, and start using your head," Emma retorted.

Kitty flushed. "_Excuse_ me? What the hell do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"I mean just what I said," snarled Emma. "Holding Peter here is an unnecessary danger, not just to us but to the students we have guardianship of. I _refuse_ to be the person who has to explain to some grieving parent that their child died at the hands of Solovey or Vultariax just because_ you _wanted to keep the man you tried to get in the sack with for the past ten years within easy reach."

"You fucking bitch," Kitty hissed, standing up, her fists clenched. In her mind's eye she saw herself diving over the table, taking Emma to the ground and pounding her face into a pulp. No finesse, no skill, just pure rage. Emma must have sensed the thought. She was on her feet, in a ready stance, her skin starting to glitter. Kitty inhaled sharply, trying to contain her quickly rising temper. "You listen to me, Frost," she said in a trembling whisper. "Peter is my friend. He is one of my best friends. In some ways, I'm closer to him than I am to Kurt or Rachel or even Illyana. He was my friend and I – we, failed him. We didn't keep him off the field when he was injured and sick. We didn't let him be with Illyana when she was dying. We failed to help him deal with his grief. When he came back to us from the Acolytes, we paid lip service to helping him get better, but like purblind, self-satisfied fools, we didn't notice how much pain he was still in, how hollow he still felt, all because we thought if he looked all right and happy on the outside then he must be fine. And then along comes that goddamn Legacy Vaccine and like the merry idiots that we are we practically hand him the out, the excuse, he was looking for." Hank closed his eyes and bowed his head. Kitty took another deep breath. Her lips were quivering and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "And now, after I put away all my hopes, we have a chance to make right with Peter, to help and heal him, and I will damn myself to hell before I throw that chance away. I will find a way to free him from whatever sorcerous compulsion is driving him, and bring him back to us, no matter what the cost. But if you all decide to shunt him off to some fortified pit, where we'll have a snowball's chance of curing him, then I'm gone." Kitty stormed out of the living room, phasing through Emma, the couch and the door.

No one said anything for a long moment. Logan leaned against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Hank's eyes were still closed, his head still bowed. Scott gazed out the window. Emma stood fuming, her hands clenched. Suddenly she glared at the men, looking at each in turn. "You agree with her. Despite knowing the risks, despite your common sense, you men want to keep Peter here at the school." Scott started to speak and she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Don't deny it. I can read it off all of you without trying, it's so obvious."

Logan pushed himself away from the wall and looked at Emma, his eyes flat and hard. "Petey was an X-Man. He's pulled some stunts that pissed me off in the past, but he was my teammate and my friend. X-Men take care of their own. I'm with Kitty on this all the way. If she goes, I go."

Emma looked over at Hank. Sensing her gaze on him, he sighed, opened his eyes and looked up. "I agree with Logan. Also, there is a more practical reason for keeping Peter here – I don't think we'd be able to transport him anywhere against his will."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Peter possesses a healing factor that makes Logan seem anemic. He processed the tranqs I gave him so fast, I might as well have been injecting water into his veins. The only reason we got him here is because we inflicted so much damage on him we forced him into a state of regenerative hibernation. I also don't think any power inhibiters we have right now will work on Peter. As I said, magic is unpredictable. Yes, there's a chance we'll get attacked by keeping him here, but there's a bigger chance he'll escape if we try moving him."

Emma turned to Scott. He looked back steadily at her. "Peter stays at the Institute," he said with finality.

Emma frowned sharply. "A chance for redemption, Scott?"

"In part, but also because I agree with both Logan and Hank's reasons, and because I want to know what's going on. I want to find out who's pulling Peter's strings and why."

Emma glared at him. "And when whoever that is sends an army to get Peter back?"

"We'll deal with it when it happens."

Emma shook her head. "Insanity. I thought you all were adults, but I'm the only one here willing to do the sensible thing."

"The sensible thing to do, darlin', ain't always the right one," Logan answered.

* * *

Nikolai floated in darkness, letting the placental tranquility of meditation soothe his turbulent spirit. He refused to allow his anger to get the better of him. Time was on his side. Either his father would send someone, or his captors would make a mistake, and he would be free. He needed but to remain patient – opportunity would come.

In his cell Nikolai stirred, canting his head slightly to one side. The darkness behind his eyes shifted and lightened as his perceptions became aware of the presence of another, someone he had not encountered before. Curious, he voluntarily emerged from his trance and opened his eyes.

A tall, regal woman stood before his cell. Her long hair was like white silk, her flawless skin colored a light, warm brown. She was dressed casually in a red blouse and jeans; despite their simplicity her clothes were stylish and fit her well. She watched him with exotic blue eyes, a tight, contained expression on her lovely face. Nikolai felt recognition rouse in the back of his mind – slight, compared to the havoc Kitty wreaked within him, but potent. Nikolai forced the feeling down and twisted his mouth into a sneer.

"What is this," he hissed. "Am I an exhibit in a zoo, an animal to be display for amusement?"

The regal woman shook her head. "No, far from it. I just wanted to see you."

Nikolai gained his feet with a liquid, serpentine motion. "Do you wish me to perform for you, my fine lady? Caper about like a drunken _skomorokh_?" He leaned backed, executed a handstand back flip, a remarkable feat for a man his size and build. When he touched ground he rushed the woman, a pale blur, and struck the force field with his fist. In the confines of the med lab the impact of the punch sounded like the explosion of a small bomb. Despite herself and her years of combat training, Ororo Munroe gasped and fell back a pace, raising her hands up in a defensive gesture. Lightening crackled between her fingers. Nikolai threw back his head and laughed. Slowly, Ororo lowered her hands, relaxing her guard. She looked at Nikolai with wide eyes, her lips pursed in a tight line. A cold trickle of fear and despair crept down her spine. _Goddess,_ she thought, _Logan had warned me, but I did not believe he could have changed so much. Even when he joined the Acolytes, he was never cruel._ Nikolai stopped laughing and looked at her again. She met his gaze unflinching, staring deep into his eyes, those twin pools of golden fire. Nikolai canted his head slightly to the right.

"You are brave, my lady," he said.

"When I have to be," Ororo answered. "And I have faced worse than you."

Nikolai smirked. "I shall have to work to rectify your fallacy."

"What happened to you, Little Brother?"

"Are all heroes this overly familiar? First those who caught me – damn them to hell – calling me by names I've never heard. Now you, whom I have never seen before in the flesh, claim kinship to me."

"You are my kin, my younger brother, in all but blood. Once you saw me as your older sister."

Nikolai sat back down in a lotus position. "I have no sister. I am an only child."

Ororo knelt down in order to keep looking into his eyes on an even level. "Peter," she said. Nikolai shook his head like a horse annoyed by a fly. "Kitty says that you are in there, hidden deep, concealed by this cruel façade."

"...The girl is a fool," Nikolai rumbled, but Ororo could detect a lack of force in the statement.

"She is not. I trust her judgment implicitly. You are in the grasp of some terrible, primal force. Once I was in such a state, my personality engulfed by my power, transforming me into something I am not. You saved me. You called to me, reminded me who I was, kept me from being consumed, from becoming a monster. We – Kitty and myself and the others – want to help you. This Nikolai, it is not you, Peter. This harshness, this will to harm, is not your real self. You should be kind, warm, giving – a man whose great strength is tempered by gentleness. Please, Little Brother, let us in. Let us help you."

Something flickered across Nikolai's face. For a brief moment, Ororo thought his golden eyes darkened to a deep, oceanic blue. Then it was gone. His eyes flared, and his sharply handsome face contorted in wrath. The tattoos on his face glittered.

"You are naïve, woman. What you see before you is what I am, a creature of deathless might, a Prince of the Earth. I care nothing for you, or the girl, or anyone else in this hovel. You are my enemies, seeking to thwart my rightful destiny. Continue to interfere, and I will leave you a broken corpse."

"Little Brother-"

Nikolai closed his eyes and shut the woman out, letting darkness balm the pain pulsing within him.

* * *

It took a while for Kitty to calm herself down. She had locked herself in her room and just sat on her bed, her breath rasping through her, her hands clenching and unclenching sporadically, not know whether she wanted to cry or scream or just break stuff. Lockheed fluttered all about her, cooing and warbling, very much concerned. She ignored him for a long time, then took him in her arms, lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She stroked Lockheed's neck. She found out long ago petting her little dragon friend had a calming effect on her. He felt so warm and soft under her hand. Lockheed began to purr and curled up on Kitty's belly. Kitty sighed, feeling the wrath seep out of her, leaving behind a melancholy languor.

_I suggest you stop thinking with your pants, Pryde, and start using your head_

Kitty frowned, her nose wrinkling in irritation. "Bitch," she mumbled. "What the hell do _you_ think with? You dress like a damn dominatrix."

_I _**refuse**_ to be the person who has to explain to some grieving parent that their child died at the hands of Solovey or Vultariax just_ _because _**you**_ wanted to keep the man you tried to get in the sack with for the past ten years within easy reach._

"Peter's my friend. I don't think of him like that anymore..." Kitty turned her head, looking over at her bookcase. She heaved out a big, gusty sigh. "Yeah, right." She swung her legs off the bed and sat up. She picked up Lockheed, kissed him on the head and set him on the bed. "I'll be back in a little bit, baby. I just want to go see Peter before I settle in for the night." The little dragon tilted his head slightly then snorted. "Oh, don't you start too!" Kitty said in mock irritation.

"Phui," grumbled Lockheed.

Kitty smiled and gave her friend another kiss before leaving her room.

While Kitty half-expected to see Hank and maybe Logan in the med lab, she was surprised to see someone else entirely standing outside the lab's door.

"Ororo?"

Ororo removed her hand from her eyes and looked up at the sound of her name. She smiled sadly at Kitty and wiped at her face with the back of her hand, trying the erase the tear track marking her cheek.

"Hello, Kitten."

Kitty walked up to the older woman and hugged her. Ororo hugged her back. For a few moments, they didn't say anything. Kitty let go and sighed. "You saw him."

Ororo nodded. "Kurt and Rogue wanted to come as well, but Scott said that too many visitors may anger him. Henry is having a hard enough time keeping him contained, without having to worry about him breaking loose thanks to an adrenaline surge." Ororo sighed. "I think I will suggest to Kurt and Rogue to wait a while... He has changed."

"I know... I never thought he'd be into tattoos."

A laugh bubbled out of Ororo and she ran her hand through Kitty's hair fondly. "You are irrepressible."

"I try my best. It's better to laugh than to cry, if you have a choice." Kitty sighed. "Though sometimes it's damn hard."

Ororo nodded in agreement. "I think I'm not the only one who cried today. Would you like to talk about it?"

Kitty made a face. Even after years apart and the sometimes radical differences between their attitudes, Ororo could still read her like an open book. "I didn't cry. I was too pissed to... I got into a fight with Frost over Peter."

Ororo's eyes hardened at the mention of the former White Queen. "What happened?"

"Frost said that for the safety of the school we should move Peter somewhere else. I objected – strenuously." She smirked. "I thought about jumping over the living room table and thrashing her, but decided it wouldn't be... ah... politic... beating up my team captain's lover."

Ororo smiled. "Yes, but it would have been oh so cathartic. Emma Frost is the kind of person who would benefit from being beaten up at least once a day."

Kitty giggled. "And you think _I'm_ wicked." She suddenly sagged a little. "But you know what, Ororo? The hell of it is that I know Frost's right. It'll be ugly, if Peter breaks out or if his henchmen try to free him. But... but..."

"He is family. That changes all the rules."

"Yeah. And I have this feeling – I know it in my gut – that if we ship him away somewhere, we'll _never_ be able to help him. I won't let that happen. I won't squander this chance."

"I stand behind you on this, Kitten. I will support you to the end. So will Kurt and Rogue."

Kitty kissed Ororo on the cheek. "Thanks. It means a lot to me, hearing you say that."

"You are welcome. You're going to see him now?"

Kitty nodded. "I meant to do so when he first woke up, but I had classes to teach. I didn't want to wait this long, but between the team meeting and me needing to cool down..." she shrugged, then looked into Ororo's eyes intensely. "Do you believe that I can get him back, Ororo?"

"...Yes. He is somewhere in that cold, hard shell, either hidden or imprisoned. When I talked with him, between his snarls and threats, I saw his true self, the Peter we know and love, peer out at me, just for a brief moment. It will take time and patience, but if anyone can do it, it is you, my Kitten. You have ties to him that no one, not even myself, have. You will set him free."

* * *

Nikolai opened his eyes when the med lab door opened and saw Kitty walk in. He glowered and spun around, presenting his back to her.

"Oh, that's real mature," commented Kitty. Nikolai did not deign to answer, but she saw his back tense, the black thorn tattoos rippling over pale skin and sculpted muscle. She gawked a little at the tattoos – she hadn't realized that he had them all over his body. She walked up to the cell, having a closer look at him. After all the punishment he suffered during the fight there wasn't a mark on his body.

"How are you?" she asked. Nikolai glanced over his shoulder.

"What?"

"How are you?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't, particularly," Kitty lied casually. "I'm just curious, is all."

Nikolai stared at her silently for several moments. She could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he considered her statement from all angles. Finally he nodded to himself and turned his head away.

"As hosts, you heroes leave much to be desired," he said. "These accommodations are atrocious – sterile white and harsh steel, in no way soothing to the eye. The bed in here is not fit for dogs and the food you've given me is swill. I am not accustomed to such deprivation."

Kitty arched an eyebrow. She thought she heard a wry, mocking tone in Nikolai's voice, as if he were smirking at her. Better than him making threats or, worse yet, not speaking at all. "And what are you accustomed to?"

"I am a Prince of the Earth. When I am not sojourning in these barbaric hinterlands, I dwell in the lap of luxury - silken divans to rest on, the finest of victuals to sate my hunger, congenial company..." He glanced at her slyly. "Perhaps you can provide some of the latter. Would you like to help me pass the wolf hours, Katya?" He lingered over her name, as if it were a delicacy to be savored. Despite herself, Kitty blushed, but only a little. That was _definitely_ unexpected.

"...A tempting offer," she drawled. "Tell you what, you answer a few of my questions, and I'll promise to give your request some serious consideration. Okay?"

"Feh." Nikolai spat on the floor and attempted to settle back into his meditative trance.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Frankly, I do not."

"You know me better than that, Piotr."

In a sudden blur Nikolai was on his feet and facing Kitty. He stormed right up to the threshold of the cell, the force field barring him crackling in reaction to his proximity. His face was a taut mask of rage. Kitty jumped back and away, startled by the sudden violence of motion. "Do not call me that," he gritted out in a whispering growl. "That is not my name. You do not know me. You do not have the slightest conception of what I am." He lifted his arms, held them out to the sides, his fists clenched. The tattoos on his body began to glimmer, turned gold, then ignited, tongues of golden fire rising from them. Flame licked up his body, bracketed his face. His eyes blazed, white hot. "I am Nikolai the Deathless, Prince of the Earth. My bones are steel, my muscle stone. Within my veins flows the blood of the _zmei_, the great dragons of hell. Against my might, all who oppose my cause will fall!"

Fear coursed through Kitty, chilling her blood, strangling her breath. It was like seeing Illyana in the grip of the Darkchilde, yet somehow worse, for this was Peter – kind, gentle, slow to anger, pure of heart and spirit. She could not see the slightest hint of that man in the burning, wrathful thing posing before her, roaring out enigmatic imprecations. Doubt assailed Kitty. What if she could not reach him? What if whatever corruption he had been subjected to was irreversible? What if there was nothing left of Peter at all, and all that remained was a monster wearing his form, desecrating his memory? These doubts fed her ravenous fear. She trembled, feeling colder than she had in a long time. Her face blanched nearly bone-white, and she felt tears burning behind her eyes. She had to get out of here before she lost it.

Then, just as she was about to turn and flee, the bale-fire erupting from Nikolai flickered out and died. He lowered his arms as his tattoos darkened to shimmering black. The light in his eyes softened from burning white to a gentler, rich gold. An ineffable expression crossed his face.

"You are afraid of me," he murmured. He looked closely at her, his breathing becoming hoarse. He slowly reached a hand out to her, pressing it against the force field. "It... hurts... to see you afraid of me. It is not right. Your fear should not matter in the slightest... How do you do this to me?"

Kitty pursed then licked her lips. "It hurts you to frighten me for the same reason it hurts me to see you this way – because we are friends."

Nikolai lowered his hand and shook his head. "I have no friends. I have no need of such."

"Oh Peter, you have so many friends... they want to help you. I want to help you."

"I have no need of your help." His voice was like the keen of a specter of desolation. He closed his eyes, turned his back on her and walked away. He settled down in the center of the cell, assuming his meditative pose. Tears began to run down Kitty's cheeks. She made no attempt to stop them.

"Peter..."

"Leave me."

Kitty breathed in sharply through her nose then nodded. "Okay. I'll let you alone – for now. But until you realize who you truly are, I will never leave you." She walked away from the cell. She opened the med lab door and looked back at Nikolai before stepping out. "Never."

Nikolai looked over his shoulder, gazing at the sealed med lab door with sorrowful blue eyes. "I hope you do not live to regret your vow... Katya..."

* * *

Koschei the Deathless rested on his malachite throne, his bony fingers pressed steepled against his thin lips, his agate eyes smoldering. On the floor before the dais Danila Volkevich paced restlessly, snarling to himself, changing from wolf to wolfen to man and back again.

Koschei shifted slightly. Damn those heroes. Damn that girl Pryde. May they all writhe in hell forever, tormented by the most pernicious of demons. Nikolai, his son, his greatest creation, overwhelmed, imprisoned. The Patriarch's Crosier captured. The fate of all his schemes lay balanced on the edge of a knife. The smallest of mistakes could cost him all. The situation was intolerable. It needed to be rectified – swiftly.

As if sensing the sorcerer's thoughts, Danila dropped to his knees before the dais and glared up with bright, golden eyes. "My lord, the _knyaz_ must be freed. Send me to do it! I will slay all who stand between me and my Elder Brother."

"Your intentions are laudable, Danila, but the goal exceeds your reach." Koschei lowered his head slightly. His eyes seemed to recede deeper into their sockets. "The heroes have taken our measure. They will be expecting us to march openly to rescue my son. They know we are powerful, but that is all they know... now is the time to abandon power in favor of cunning. Yes... No more open displays of might. We shall be circumspect, use the dagger in the dark, the poison in the cup, the adder on the path... Yes..." Koschei pushed himself up to his feet and gazed at his eager young vassal. "Danila... summon Misery."

* * *

Kirayoshi – I had just finished writing up some comments about your Spider-Man story _The Goblin Wars_ and sent it out to you when I received your comments on the last chapter of _Deathless_. Funny coincidence, eh?

Anyhow, glad you enjoyed chapter four and that you think so highly of this story. The Fastball Special/Vision Smash seems to be something of a hit.

I actually ran across the RPG you mentioned a while ago. I sort of wish I had learned about it earlier – though I haven't done any bulletin board RPGing, I would have loved the chance to play Colossus to OldPrydeFan's Shadowcat. I wonder how my interpretation of the character would have gone over. The way I see Peter (when he isn't a brain-washed warrior-sorcerer in the service of a lecherous undead wizard) is that he is something of an inverse of Robert B. Parker's Spenser. Perhaps I'll expound a bit on that later.

Anyhow, I too wish that OldPrydeFan would come back. Not only do I want to see more of _Paper Flowers_, but also I would really like to know what she thinks of _Deathless_ and _Old Enough, _since she's one of the reasons I started writing these stories (and speaking of my inspirations, have you read any of Lia Fail's work yet? If you haven't, then you really should. She's very good). I hope OldPrydeFan hasn't grown tired of fan fiction...

Lia Fail – I'm lucky to have a fan that thinks so highly of my stories! I can relate with the computer problems – just last year I was off-line for five months... No fun indeed.

Anyhow, thanks for the kind words. I'm surprised how much Hank has grown on me. As I stated before, I had no problems with Kitty or Nikolai/Peter, and I found Wolverine surprisingly easy to write, despite my ambivalence towards him. I was worried a bit about writing Beast at first, but now he's tons of fun. I still think I have problems with Scott and Emma, though I think I've managed to channel some of Emma's 'Queen Bitch' attitude in this chapter.

Hoped you liked the interaction between Nikolai and the X-Men (especially Kitty) this chapter.

B – Thanks for the praise. Forgive me if I sound a bit egotistical, but I think I have a knack for writing combat scenes. Guess it comes from reading a whole bunch of Robert E. Howard (the most righteous creator of Conan the Barbarian and King Kull). Now only if dialogue came easier to me...

Out of curiosity, is there anyone else out there? While I wouldn't trade Kirayoshi, Lia Fail and B's comments for anything in the world, it gets a bit demoralizing getting only three comments per chapter. Is all the Russian mythology a turn-off, or are not more people interested because I'm not writing a Rogue/Gambit story (and don't you think we have enough stories about those two? I like them as much as the next guy, but all the stories floating around about them finding love against all odds gets a bit tedious. I think I would kill for more good Colossus and/or Shadowcat stories. Or how about a story concerning Nightcrawler channeling his inner Errol Flynn, with Amanda or Meggan as Olivia de Havilland? That would be tons of fun)?

Curiosity the Second – Which of Nikolai's henchmen have you found the most interesting so far - Solovey, Myedvyed Tsar, Vultariax, or Danila Volkevich? I'm betting it won't be Tsar – he hasn't done much save growl or fight...

Thanks all for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	8. Chapter 6 Misery

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 6 – Misery

Stephen Savin groaned, rousing reluctantly out of his pain-hazed sleep. His limbs felt leaden and a sharp pain throbbed in the back of his neck. Another groan welled in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He lay still in his bed, fearful of opening his eyes, for someone was in his hospital suite. The sensible part of him knew that it was most likely a nurse or a doctor checking on him, but he was still afraid – afraid that a tall, muscular man loomed over him, waiting for Savin to acknowledge his presence. Savin could still see him in his mind, his golden mask smiling sinisterly, the dragons on his greatcoat undulating as he moved, his massive, leather gauntleted hands ready to crush and hurt. Stephen moaned, started to shiver, the pain in his neck sharpening, becoming a hot iron rod thrust down the center of his spine.

Suddenly his pain vanished, without a trace, leaving not even its memory behind. Savin stopped shivering, wondering what happened, then decided it did not matter; the cessation of his pain being the most glorious thing he ever felt in his life. He sighed loudly in ecstatic relief and slowly fluttered his eyes open.

A woman sat by the end of his bed, her trim legs crossed, her slim hands folded in her lap. She was one of the most beautiful women Savin ever had the privilege of seeing. She wore a white, low cut halter-top that left her arms, fine white slacks and white leather shoes. The halter left her shoulders, arms and taut, firm stomach exposed. A white choker with a diamond clasp encircled her exquisite throat. Pale blond hair poured down to her round shoulders. Her large eyes were ice sapphires, bright in the gloom of the hospital room. Silver lipstick, expertly applied, colored her full lips. Her skin was flawless, silken in texture, almost as white as driven snow. If Pygmalion had carved Galatea from ice, instead of marble, she would have looked like this woman.

A man stood behind her, his arms folded across his narrow chest, wearing a brown leather jacket, red shirt and black trousers. He was fairly handsome, with tousled, short-trimmed brown hair and a svelte, athletic build. He watched Stephen without expression, tilting his head slightly and lifting a hand to push his red tinted sunglasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.

"Good afternoon, Mister Savin," the woman murmured. Her voice was a rich soprano, her inflection cultured. Savin thought he detected a slight Brahmin accent. "I am sorry to disturb you like this, but it is necessary."

"I do not mind," answered Savin, his voice hoarse from slumber. He smiled. "To be disturbed by a woman such as you is a pleasure to be cherished."

The woman smiled politely in return, bowing her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. "My name is Emma Frost, and this is Scott Summers." The man nodded in greeting. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"Frost... an appropriate name for you, my beauty," Savin muttered in Russian. A smirk flickered briefly across Summers lips. Savin then blinked and frowned in concentration. "Your names are familiar to me, but I can not place them... wait, are you... super-heroes? Avengers – "

"X-Men," Frost corrected.

"Mutants." Savin said the word neutrally. He had his prejudices, but mutants were not one of them. He knew from his father's stories and his own recent experience there are far worse things at large in the world.

Frost nodded. "A few days ago, our team was here in San Francisco, to stop an army of supernatural beings attacking the city. A friend of ours led them, someone we had thought lost to us, and who has now changed radically for the worse. We believe you have encountered him."

Savin's sallow complexion paled further. His hand began to tremble; he clutched at his sheets to make them stop. "I do not know what you are talking about, Miss Frost."

"You are lying," stated Frost simply, without rancor. "He is calling himself Nikolai the Deathless, and was initially spotted on Larkin Street, in front of your house. In a fit of pique he destroyed a passing car, but left its owner – a Miss Rebecca Strom – alive. She reported what happened, and, when they were available, police officers investigated the scene. They found your front door torn off its hinges and you yourself incoherent in your study. You were brought here, where you've flitted in and out of consciousness, occasionally raving in Russian." Frost leaned forward, her eyes hard but earnest. "We need to know what happened between you and Nikolai, Mr. Savin."

"It is vitally important," added Summers. "We have Nikolai contained, but as long as we remain ignorant of his origins and purpose he remains a threat."

Savin closed his eyes, shook his head and muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Savin?" Frost asked.

"Nikolai is not who you should worry about."

"Why?"

"His is but a tool... an instrument of his father's malign will. The one who spawned him is the true danger."

"And who is that, Mr. Savin?"

Savin opened his eyes. They were glazed with fear. "Koschei," he said in a quavering whisper. "Koschei the Deathless..."

* * *

"Finally! Found you at last, you bastard." Hank McCoy grinned to himself. He took a sip of his coffee as he printed out multiple copies of the article he had just perused. "God bless the Internet – no longer will I consider you merely a repository for distasteful pornography." He removed his spectacles, rubbed at his eyes, donned the spectacles again and reread his find.

_The Patriarch's Crosier – a staff wrought of silver with twining ivy vines molded from its surface and a golden, unadorned crook. Believed commissioned in 988 AD by Prince Vladimir of Kiev and given the following year to the Metropolitan of Kiev, who had personally baptized the Prince. With the fall of the Byzantine Church and the establishment of Russian Orthodox Christianity, the Crosier eventually became the staff of office of the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church. The Crosier vanished sometime between 1917 and 1922. The exact date of its disappearance remains unknown. Popular opinion believes that the Soviet government confiscated the Crosier during its sacking of Church treasures, and was eventually melted down for its metals. Despite strenuous and exhaustive searches by both Russian Orthodox Church agents and secular art historians, no evidence has surfaced to contradict this theory. The disappearance of the Patriarch's Crosier is considered a loss to Russia's artistic heritage on par with the gross destruction of several of the legendary Faberge Easter eggs, and an even greater blow to the country's religious traditions._

Hank finished his coffee, leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head and gusted out a loud sigh. Two days of hard research, and he finally discovered the origins of the staff. Scratch one question off the list. Now only if they knew why Peter was willing to invade San Francisco with a horde of ravenous undead in order to find this Crosier. Peter seemed to now think that dogs should be fed only once a week, if that, and had not spoken since his conversation with Kitty. He either sat in meditation or paced the confines of his cell like a restless tiger, responding to interrogation with only an occasional, menacing growl. Not even Kitty could get him to talk, but at least she caused a reaction in him – he would either wake up or fall still and watch her. His respiration, pulse and heartbeat elevated slightly in her presence, and every so often his eyes would flash from gold to blue. Kitty talked to him for hours on end, telling him of her recent experiences, both on the field and in the classroom, teaching computer science. She had an endless supply of funny jokes and humorous anecdotes. Infrequently, when no one else was in the med lab, she would bring up incidents and memories from Peter's past life. He never responded, but she always had his undivided attention. Hank wondered wryly if Peter would _ever_ speak again, and pondered the possibility of using their newfound knowledge of the Crosier as a wedge to open him up. Perhaps if Kitty broached the subject... he decided to discuss it with Scott when he returned from San Francisco.

Hank rubbed his chin, picked up one of the print outs and again reread the article. The Crosier had disappeared between 1917 and 1922, the period of the Bolshevik Revolution and the consolidation of the Soviet government's power. Hank's cat-like yellow eyes narrowed. Fyodor Dobrynski's parents were nobles who had fled Russia to France to escape the Communists. Could the Dobrynskis been entrusted with the Crosier, and if so, why, and how did it end up in San Francisco, concealed in an underground tunnel? He would have to see if that family had any ties to the Russian Orthodox Church. The chances were good – many younger sons of noble families entered the priesthood as a career, and if so, investigating the Dobrynski estate could bear fruit. It would be too much of a coincidence, they having ties to both the Saul icon and the Patriarch's Crosier. The X-Men had no official standing with any government or law enforcement agency, but Hank thought about calling in a marker from Captain America – a request for cooperation from the Avengers could go a long way to making Fyodor's executor compliant.

A sudden chill swept over Hank, causing the fur on the back of his neck to stand up. Like a shot he got up out of his chair and looked around, his eyes sweeping over his room, testing the air with his enhanced sense of smell. He detected nothing. His right ear pricked up and he stalked over to his door, threw it open and glared out into the hallway. Save for a student leaning against one of the walls, it was empty. Hank took a closer look at the boy; his face was pale, sweat gleamed on his brow and he was trembling almost imperceptibly. Hank frowned and walked over to him. "Are you all right, Wing?"

Wing looked over at Hank and shook his head. "I'm not too sure, Dr. McCoy. I was heading to my room when... I dunno... it was like a cold wind cut through me and my stomach started to twist... and..."

"And what?"

Wing shook his head. "I don't remember."

Still frowning, Hank pressed the back of his hand against the young man's forehead. "Hmmm... You don't feel hot, but I think you should go have Nurse Annie give you a check up."

"I'm starting to feel better, Dr. McCoy."

"Sudden dizzy fits aren't something to be ignored. To the nurse's office, now." Wing winced, and Hank felt a little abashed. He had not meant to sound so stern. "It's most likely nothing, my son, but it's better safe than sorry," he said kindly.

Wing nodded. "Okay sir." He headed back down the hallway. When he rounded the corner Hank shook his head. It was not like him to be on edge like this. He frowned again. Young Mister Wing had felt a chill too. Hank did not like coincidences. He wondered if anyone else on the school grounds had gotten a sudden case of the heebie-jeebies. Pondering this, he went back to his room, sat down in front of his computer, input his pass-code and accessed the manor's security systems. First he checked the med lab; he found Peter still incarcerated, and apparently, according to the automated logs, had not stirred from his current meditative trance for the past three hours. "Still got 'im," Hank muttered, and started to punch in another command, initiating an active, silent security sweep of the school and its surroundings.

Hank's nimble fingers froze above the keyboard. He blinked and stared hard at the upper right hand corner of his monitor, his mouth falling open slightly. A face reflected faintly on the screen, pallid, discolored, wasted. Hank spun his chair around and started to spring up when a translucent _something_ slammed into his chest, rocking him back into his seat. The back of his skull caromed off the edge of his monitor. Hank tried to yell, but something that felt like a rod of lead filled his throat, choking off his voice. He thrashed, fell off his chair, landing heavily on his side, his clawed hands scrabbling at the hardwood floor. A veil of darkness swept across his eyes, hurricane winds roared in his ears. A crushing numbness enveloped his form, squeezing his powerful limbs into submission.

And then the visions came...

In his mind, Hank McCoy screamed...

* * *

"Tell us about Koschei, Mr. Savin," murmured Emma Frost. Savin sighed, shifted slightly. Strange what he was feeling – weary, ashamed, yet somehow elated. This was no longer his responsibility. He had heard many things about the X-Men. They were not Russian, but perhaps they could thwart the coming evil. Just perhaps, but God knew they had more of a chance than he did. Koschei's bastard son had not even considered him worth killing.

Savin sighed again, closed his eyes, composed his thoughts and began to speak. "Koschei the Deathless is the greatest evil ever spawned on Russian soil. No one knows for certain his origins. Some have speculated he was once a god whose worship was displaced when the Rus conquered the Slavs and founded Russia. Only Koschei knows the truth, and he does not speak of it. Perhaps he has forgotten... But he has not forgotten his magic, for he is the greatest of all sorcerers. Only the Baba Yaga herself is a match for him, and as evil as she can be, she can not equal him in malice." Savin coughed and reached for the cup and pitcher of water resting on the stand next to his bed. Scott walked over, poured him a drink and handed it to him. Savin nodded in thanks, drank the water slowly and handed the cup back to Scott.

Emma tapped a slim forefinger against her cheek. "Do you know for what purpose would Koschei have Nikolai attack San Francisco and ransack a museum in New York?"

"I can merely but hazard a guess. Most of what I know comes from legends and folktales. My father knew more, but he told me little and left no record. This much I can tell you. Some century or so ago, Koschei's mind began to shift. In the past he was content merely to practice his evil rituals and satiate his lusts. But somehow, he became infected with a new desire. He began to dream the old Russian dream of founding the Third Rome, an empire that would dwarf the glories of the first Rome and Constantinople, with he himself as its undying Tsar. But first, he needed to bring Russia itself under his control...

"Many people opposed him. Most of them died, but they managed to bring Koschei down, despite the terrible price he extracted. They could not slay him – his death had been lost – but the leader of his foes, Georgi Dobrynski..." at mention of this name Emma's eyes widened slightly, Scott frowned and they exchanged glances. Savin, his eyes closed, did not notice. "Dobrynski bound him with a great spell of slumber. He claimed it would last a thousand years..." Savin chuckled bitterly. "He was overly optimistic. From Koschei's redoubt, Dobrynski took three items of power the Deathless had valued. What two of them are, and where they could be, I have no inkling, save that one must have been at that museum you mentioned. The third I know, but have never seen. It was a staff made of silver called the Patriarch's Crosier, a treasure of the Russian Church that Koschei had stolen, twisted to his own foul purposes and replaced with a counterfeit. These three items were each a piece of a key that would further his ambitions. How, I also do not know. I know so little... If only father had seen fit to tell me more..." Savin fell silent for a minute before continuing.

"Dobrynski entrusted the staff to his best friend, my father, Ivashka. When the Bolsheviks came to power, the survivors of the war against Koschei fled. Father eventually settled here in San Francisco. He sequestered the Crosier beneath its streets and warded it with a spell of obfuscation. He did not tell me where. He thought it not necessary, and what he did tell me, I do not think I ever truly believed. No, I did not start to believe until three days ago, when I came home from my walk and that... that _thing_, the _oborotyen_, clamored down my stairs and chased me into my study where... _he_ was waiting..." Savin's voice faltered and he began to gasp. "God in Heaven, those burning golden eyes. I thought I would shrivel and char beneath their gaze. The power of him! He could have killed me with a word. Why didn't he kill me? I see him in my mind, even now. He is there when I close my eyes. I wish I had died. Death is preferable than knowing that such as _he_ breathes and walks..." Savin sobbed, tears running down his withered, sallow cheeks.

"Shhhh." Emma stood and placed her hand on Savin's forehead. He immediately relaxed and fell quiet, his tears stopping. "I thank you very much, Mr. Savin. You have helped us, and we are grateful. Relax now. Go to sleep. You will not dream, and when you awaken, you will neither remember your terror or that we ever visited you." Savin sighed. His head lolled slightly to one side and he began to snore. Emma straightened, looked at Scott, nodded and together they left Savin's room.

* * *

Nikolai the Deathless growled, lifted his head and opened his eyes. They burned bright in the dim light of the med lab, and the tattoos on his face shimmered. Something familiar was approaching. He could smell it. He uncoiled from his lotus position, rising up on one knee. The med lab's door slid open and in walked Hank McCoy. He moved stiffly, in stuttering jerks, like a marionette fighting against its puppeteer. His knees seemed locked, his eyes bulged from their sockets and his long red tongue lolled out of his open mouth, draping over his sharp, pointed teeth. At first sight of him Nikolai gained his feet and walked right to the threshold of his cell, so close to the force field containing him that it crackled and hummed in response. He grinned viciously, fierce, triumphant joy surging through him.

Hank staggered to his console and dropped hard onto a chair. His large paws hovered over the keyboard, shaking violently. His eyes rolled wildly and he coughed out wet chokes. He started to stab at the keys with his forefingers, punching in his password and command, finishing by striking down on the 'Enter' key so hard the board cracked and nearly split in half. The force field powered down and vanished. Nikolai stepped out of the cell, stretching, cricking his neck, clenching and unclenching his fists. Hank stood up, took a step then fell flat on his face. A shimmering, transparent shape continued walking. It stood before Nikolai and materialized, taking on color and depth. It became a man, painfully thin and emaciated, dressed in a caftan spun from black sackcloth, black trousers and crude black shoes. The bones of his face stood out prominently against parchment thin skin the color of dirty ivory. A sickly blue stained his cheeks, his lips and the skin beneath his coal-black eyes. In stark contrast to his wasted, filthy countenance, his hair was long, clean and bright, a shimmering cascade of gold pouring from his crown down to the small of his back, its unexpected beauty making him even more grotesque. The man smiled, crossed his arms before his chest and bowed before Nikolai, folding himself nearly in half. Nikolai nodded in return. "Misery," he rumbled.

"My sweet _knyaz_," sighed Misery. "By order of your father, I have come, crossing Nine-Thrice lands to these barbaric climes. I stand before you, at your service, O Prince of the Earth."

"You have done well."

Misery unfolded from his bow. "It was no great feat, my _knyaz_, concealing myself. How can such wretches perceive a being such as I? I, who am always near at hand but far from thought." He grinned at the still form lying sprawled on the floor. "It took time and patience, watching for the proper opportunity, but it was well worth it. Such sweet pain this one has, such delectable agonies, concealed behind laughter and erudition. I wish I had more time to savor them." Misery sighed in regret. "Shall we depart for your father's hall?"

"Not yet. My hosts relieved me of the Patriarch's Crosier. We must retrieve it." Nikolai's eyes flared. "I sense it, three hundred paces from here. Misery, discorporate and follow unseen – we shall hold you in reserve, just in case." Nikolai strode to the door. Misery followed, his form rippling and then vanishing. In the hall Nikolai looked right, then left, then turned left and stalked down the hall, proud and arrogant, contemptuous of stealth, his hard leather boots thundering against the floor. His right fist clenched tight, the muscles and tendons of his arm swelling. A snarl slashed his face. Let someone try to stop him...

Twenty paces from the storage vaults someone rounded a corner and froze with a little gasp of surprise. Nikolai halted and looked at her; she was a young Oriental girl, perhaps little more than fifteen, quite pretty, with long, straight black, hazel eyes and a shapely, oval face, dressed casually in a white short-sleeved shirt, brown slacks and white sneakers. She gasped again, her hand rising to her mouth. Nikolai canted his head slightly, his burning, metallic eyes narrowing. The girl took a step back, turned and fled. Nikolai sensed Misery preparing to pursue, and raised his hand to check him. "Stay, she is harmless. Violence is unnecessary - now is the time for speed."

* * *

"So how's the therapy goin', Pun'kin?"

Kitty sighed and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. She and Logan had finished teaching their last classes for the day. They were walking through the mansion's halls, past clusters of congregating students making plans for the weekend. She glanced over them glumly, surprised at her feelings of envy. _God, I'm pathetic_, she thought. _I must be the only twenty-three year old in the entire United States who wants to be fourteen again._ The sentiment was not entirely true, but she knew that she had days that, if some powerful agency manifested before her and offered to take her back in time, to the happy days before Battleworld and the goddamn Beyonder, before the Massacre, before Dallas and Inferno, before Legacy, before all the disasters she had on Muir Island with the prominent men in her life, before Piotr made his devastating decision, she would say 'yes' without a second thought. _Pathetic_. Kitty sighed again, then noticed Logan looking at her with concern. "I'm okay," she said, answering his unspoken question. "Just thinking about choices, is all." Logan nodded. "As for how it's going with Peter, I'm not quite sure. I'm trying to be patient, but it's hard. I know it's too much to expect him to remember who he is after only a few days work – him alive again is miraculous enough – but I want him back so bad..." Kitty shook her head and frowned unhappily.

Logan patted Kitty on the shoulder. "He will come back. You'll find the way for him."

Kitty forced a cocky smirk. "You bet I will. But it's not going to be easy. Peter's aware, on some level, that I'm important to him. When I'm in the med lab, he stops whatever he's doing and focuses all of his attention on me. When I talk to him, sometimes his eyes turn blue. It doesn't last long, though, and he hasn't spoken in two days. I think there's a block in his mind preventing him from fully recognizing me and realizing that he wasn't always Nikolai."

"Could be he doesn't _want _to remember."

Kitty bit her lower lip. "Perhaps. I hope not – that'll make it more difficult, and this is tough enough as is. I'm keeping that possibility in mind though, but from what I've been seeing during my talks with him, I believe a memory block is more likely. Three or four times now, I've told him about something we experienced together – a session in the Danger Room, or a mission we were on, or just us hanging out – and he gets this look of frustration on his face, sorta similar to the way he looked at me at the Met and in San Francisco, except not quite as sad or hurt. He knows I'm telling him the truth, but despite knowing he can't remember. It's just out of his reach, and then he shuts down for a moment, closes his eyes and just drifts off. When he opens them, if they were blue before, they're turned back to that pupiless gold and I have to start over."

"It'd be easier if his mind weren't cloaked."

"That would definitely simplify things. Anyhow, if I don't seem to be making any progress after a week, I plan on asking Kurt to have Amanda come by for a professional consultation. And if that doesn't pan out, I'm going to call the Professor.

"Emma ain't gonna like that."

"Since when do you give a flying fuck at a donut about what Frost likes?" Kitty asked sourly. "I certainly don't."

Logan barked a laugh. "Never said that I did, Pun'kin. Just pointing it out fer ya."

Kitty shrugged and waved her hand. "She'll get over it. Besides, it's not like I want the Professor to come all the way from Genosha just to do a mind-scan. I believe Frost's opinion about Peter's cloak – I don't like her much, but inexpert she ain't. However, the Professor _does_ have contacts we don't."

Logan arched an eyebrow, realizing what Kitty was implying. "Doctor Strange."

"Got it in one, Logan. He helped us with Kurt, when Margali struck him down with that curse years ago; I bet he can be of great help to us now. Fight fire with fire, magic with magic."

"_Mr. Logan! Ms. Pryde!_" Logan and Kitty turned around, spotting the young Oriental girl running frantically towards them. A premonition gripped Kitty, a cold, hard hand clutching at her throat. _Oh God, just let it be a fistfight, not Solovey or Vultariax... Please God._ She managed to muster her voice. "Hisako, what's wrong?"

Hisako skidded to a halt before the teachers, flushed and breathless. "There's an intruder... downstairs," she gasped. "A big man with tattoos..."

"Shit!" swore Kitty. She immediately phased through the floor. Logan shouted at her to wait, but she was gone in an instant.

"Dammit!" He turned to Hisako. "Was there anyone else with him?" She shook her head. "Okay, go trigger the alarm, then go to yer room and _stay_ there. Don't even _think_ a pulling any 'X-Baby tryin' ta prove herself' crap. Pryde and I will handle this."

"Who is it, Mr. Logan?" asked Hisako, excited despite her fear. She had not recognized the man from any of the threat dossier entries she had been studying on the sly.

"Someone who can kill _you_ with a slap. That's all ya need ta know, now _get_!" Logan ran for the nearest stairs to the sub-level. Downstairs he found Kitty as she exited the med lab, a wild look on her face.

"Hank is in there, knocked out. He's seems stable, but I have no idea what hit him. Someone used his pass-codes to power down the holding cell."

Logan growled and sniffed the air. "Down this way. Peter's headin' for-"the sound of tortured metal shrieked down the hall, cutting him off. "The storage vaults," Kitty finished for him.

"That damned staff... Can you fiddle with that field Hank set up ta keep Peter from 'portin' out, have it blanket the vaults?"

"No. It's set for the med lab only, with no way to refocus it. I could maybe spread it out over the entire school grounds, but it'll probably be too diffuse to hold anyone determined to teleport out."

"Figures." Logan clenched his fists. His claws hissed out of their bionic housings. "Quick 'n dirty, then." He and Kitty dashed down the corridor.

Nikolai the Deathless contemplated the vault containing the Patriarch's Crosier for a moment, then seized the door. The vault's force field flared in resistance. Nikolai snorted in contempt and exerted a fraction of his sorcerous strength, the powerful muscles in his arms and back swelling and bunching. The force field gave a high-pitched whine, shorted out and the vault door tore away, shredding like rice paper. Tossing the door aside, Nikolai reached into the vault, retrieved his sword and poniard and hooked them to his belt. Next he took out his enchanted pouch and the Crosier, shook open the pouch and thrust the silver staff into it. He was tying the pouch to his belt when he heard the sounds of rapid footsteps coming from the hallway. He turned in time to see Logan and Kitty charge in. Upon spotting him the two X-Men halted. Logan glared at Nikolai. Kitty looked grimly determined. Nikolai ran a hand through his thick mane of jet-black hair, settled into a relaxed stance and smiled his inhuman smile. "Third time has come sooner than you thought, little man," he said.

Logan ignored Nikolai's comment. "Two ways o' doin' this, Petey: either you walk back to yer cell under yer own power, or I slice ya ta ribbons and Kitty 'n me carry you back."

Nikolai laughed. "It is a healthy thing to have optimism, but let us be realistic: you do not have enough gun to stop me from leaving."

"Wanna bet? I've taken down bigger 'n badder than you, Pete."

"Come then, and prove it." Logan snarled, struck his claws together and crouched in preparation for a leap.

"Piotr, please," said Kitty. "There's no reason for us to fight."

Nikolai's smile faded. His eyes darkened momentarily. "There is every reason for me to fight. You have constrained me against my will, interfered in my affairs."

"We did so to help you! You're being compelled against your better nature into committing acts you'd never even contemplate in your proper state of mind. Please, Peter, stand down. I don't want to hurt you."

Nikolai's eyes darkened again, then flared white-hot. "Enough talk. Either try to stop me or stand aside." He crossed his arms and gripped the hilts of his broadsword and poniard, preparing to draw.

"Words ain't gonna cut it, Pun'kin," Logan growled. "Yer havin' an effect on him, but it ain't enough ta settle this. We have ta do this hard."

Kitty closed her eyes, took in a deep breath through her nose, and clenched her hands into small fists, and resigned herself. "Let's get this over with."

Nikolai drew, his blades rasping free from their hard leather scabbards. Logan charged, his right claws held high on guard, his left claws held low, ready to cut out Nikolai's legs from under him. Kitty readied herself to support Logan. She took a step forward. Then Misery materialized behind her and thrust his intangible, bony arm through her back. Kitty blanched white, her eyes bulging in agony. She screamed as the memory of every injury she ever suffered – physical, mental and emotional – assailed her conscious thought. Razor wires of pain pulled across every nerve in her body. Her heart thrummed like a piston against her ribs. Tears poured from her eyes, and she felt herself being dragged down into a fathomless pit.

At the sound of Kitty's scream Logan checked his charge and turned. An emaciated man held her unconscious, slack form from behind, his long, skeleton arms wrapped around her, his clawed fingers at her throat. "Another step forward," whispered Misery, "and I tear this lovely's throat out. Pull in your claws." Logan growled, the tendons in his arms bulging beneath his skin, his knuckles clenched white, his face flushed with rage. He forced his fists open and his claws retracted. Misery smiled, his face contorting into a hideous death's head. His hand relaxed from Kitty's throat and dipped up, caressing her face. "Ah, what a find this maiden is! So, so young, yet having known enough exquisite pain and sublime tragedy to fill lifetimes... what a pleasure it would be, to _plunder_ her." Misery bowed his head down to hers. A long, gray tongue slithered from his mouth and licked her cheek. Kitty quivered and moaned. "Perhaps the _knyaz_ will allow-"Misery faltered, his black eyes widening as an expression of fear swept over him. Logan wheeled around. Nikolai had sheathed his blades and his face was as expressionless as an iron effigy's, but an aura of lethal menace radiated from his tense, massive body. A slight tremor ran up his arms and his eyes were incandescent. He pulled his gaze away from Misery and his hostage and looked at Logan. "You are checked," Nikolai whispered. "Yield, and she will not be harmed."

Logan grimaced. "Go on and get it over with." Nikolai stepped forward and struck him down with a crushing sledgehammer fist. Logan dropped to his hands and knees, tried to rise, was struck again and laid out flat on his stomach. He stirred, groaned, and Nikolai kicked him in the head, knocking him out.

"Well done, Great Prince," said Misery. "Finish him while I dispose of this pretty here."

"Get your filthy hands off of her," snarled Nikolai.

Misery started, surprised by his master's order and tone. "My _knyaz_?"

"Are you deaf?" Nikolai strode towards his henchman, his face contorted in wrath. Golden light raced the arabesque of his tattoos; a tongue of flame briefly licked up his right arm. "Let her go, before I tear you to pieces and throw your blighted soul screaming down to hell." Misery immediately released Kitty and retreated back several steps. Nikolai dropped to one knee and caught her before she hit the floor. He gently cradled her in his right arm and looked at her closely, his expression gentled to one of wonderment and curiosity. He ran the pad of his thumb across her cheek, tracing the delicate bones, frowning at the pain tightening her looks. He leaned close to her hair and inhaled deeply, taking in her scent – simple honey and peaches, yet somehow it was the sweetest thing he had ever smelled. Ocean blue light flickered in his eyes. He slipped his left arm under her legs and rose, holding her close to his broad chest.

"My _knyaz_?" said Misery hesitantly.

"This girl comes with us," muttered Nikolai, still staring at her. "She has mysteries that I wish to explore..."

Misery leered. "No doubt, Great Prince. But are you sure this is wise? The Master will not approve."

"His approval does not matter," snapped Nikolai. "I claim her as a war prize. As Koschei's warlord and heir, I am well within my rights. Do you dispute this, Misery?"

Misery shook his violently. "Nay, _knyaz_. Your will is mine, in this and all other matters."

"Good. Endeavor to have that remain so." A pillar of golden flame erupted behind Nikolai. He jerked his head and Misery walked into it and teleported. Nikolai glanced down at Logan, then again to Kitty's face. Carrying her, he stepped over his fallen enemy and into the sorcerous fire.

* * *

I'm sorry this took so long to get finished. There were points where working on this chapter of _Deathless_ was akin to pulling teeth, and I'm _still_ not quite satisfied with it. Don't be surprised if you see sudden changes to this chapter over the course of time – there's a good chance I'll return to it and give it a going over. Also, I've been revising the earlier chapters of _Deathless_. I have made no major changes, and am but fixing spelling errors, dropped words and such.

I think one of the factors in making this a difficult piece to finish was Astonishing X-Men #4. As most of you probably know by now, Peter has returned to the mainstream Marvel titles. While I'm very happy about this turn of events (and especially with the way Joss Whedon and John Cassaday depicted it), it also knocked some of the wind out of my sails. Peter returning for real made me feel that there really wasn't much need for this story, and what I have planned for after I finished _Deathless_. Obviously, I managed to talk myself out of that, but it still loomed heavily over my mind as I worked on it. I'm hoping the next chapter will go a little more smoothly.

One more thing before some shout-outs: the lovely and talented Lia Fail has done me the honor of writing a continuation to my story _Pushing It_. It's called _Moving Forward_, and it's very good, better than any of the Peter/Kitty stories I've managed to scrawl out so far. As of this writing it has been criminally neglected for reviews. Go on over, give it a good read, and let Lia know what you think.

Judy: Hope you enjoyed _Deathless_ so far. Let me know what you think. Feedback really helps keep me going.

Lia Fail: You really know how to flatter me. ;) I'm glad thinking about _Deathless_ helped you stay awake during The Village – I wasn't too impressed with that movie, myself.

Koschei like Principal Snyder? Oh dear, I was hoping he seemed just a tad more menacing... I wonder if you'll still think of him the same way after the next two or three chapters. He'll have a much more active role in this story from here on out.

I agree with you on the isolation of the X books. That's one of the things that drove me from them years back. I don't know if there'll be many more opportunities for such things in _Deathless_ from here on out, but I definitely plan on using such tie-ins in the future. I have an idea about the Astonishing team attending a 'Second Chances' fundraiser held by Simon Williams... well, you'll see when I finally get to it. Also, I think Joss is going to have a bit more interaction between our guys and the rest of the X teams come issue 5 of _Astonishing._

Thanks for the kind words about my characterization. In the end, that's why we read these stories and comics – we love the characters and all the little quirks and interactions. If I wanted to watch mere slugfests I'd watch boxing and wrestling. Believe it or not, Nikolai isn't all that hard for me to write, though I can't exactly explain why.

I've talked to you a bit all ready about your comments on _Pushing It_. I enjoyed writing that story a lot. I like romance in general (perhaps because there so little of it in my life) and I hope to write a few more young Kitty/Peter romances. The only problem I have with working in that time period is that _Secret Wars_ looms so close at hand (is not having to deal with that hairball another reason why you prefer working with Evo continuity?). I've been thinking about writing an alternate take on _Uncanny_ 183 sometime in the future, basically an AU where Peter wasn't so quick on the draw to break up with Kitty after his affair with Zsaji, but that'll be a good while, since I have a lot of other stories I want to work on first, and because writing that particular story may require me to read _Secret Wars_, which I've heard is a traumatic experience at the best of times.

AmoKitty: Thank you so much for the nice things you said about _Pushing It_. I hope to write some vignettes like that in the future. Glad you liked Kitty and Peter's interaction – I feel a bit uncomfortable about that at times. I've written romantic scenes between underage characters before, and once a full-blown 'lemon' (erotic story), but both of the participants (Ranma and Akane, from Ranma ½) were sixteen; Peter being nineteen and Kitty fourteen and a half gets me a bit nervous every once in a while. As for how things will go between them in _Deathless_... you'll see. The next chapter will be _very_ interesting.

My burnout seems to have been adverted for now. Keep your fingers crossed.

Darkstorm 5000 and B: Glad you enjoyed _Pushing It. _I'll try to keep a good pace with _Deathless_.

Kirayoshi – I'll keep your story idea in mind. I actually have an idea for a vignette where Pete Wisdom will make a brief appearance – it concerns Kitty remembering an incident that happened between her and Peter while they were on Muir Island, recovering from the wounds inflicted upon them by the Marauders, but since it concerns a revelation I plan on using later in the _Deathless_ timeline, it'll have to wait a bit.

I liked the catfight between Emma and Kitty, myself, and am surprised that it didn't elicit more comments.

Next up: _Deathless _Chapter 7: The Gilded Cage.

Thanks all for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	9. Chapter 7 The Gilded Cage

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 7 – The Gilded Cage

The greedy darkness clutching at her shredded in a brief prismatic burst and Kitty Pryde awoke, finding herself surrounded by gentler shadows. She sat upright violently, staring ahead unseeing as she took in great, ragged gasps of air, her breasts heaving. A soft, distressed moan escaped her lips and she buried her face in her hands. What had hit her? It felt as if a thousand thunderbolts had streaked from the heavens to strike her down. As she wondered scraps of memory floated to the forefront of her consciousness, intruding into her awareness, knitting into a tapestry depicting her life. Kitty shuddered as pains long dulled, anxieties long forgotten, returned with renewed poignancy. She remembered falling from her bike and breaking her right arm when she was six; felt a heavy lead ball well in the pit of her stomach as she crouched in the stairway, listening to her parents fight; prayed to God to take away the chronic headaches threatening to split her skull apart. She could taste fear, in her mouth, thick and coppery, as she fled from Hellfire mercenaries. She bit down on her scream as N'gari claws tore through her ephemeral form. She remembered her outrage when Professor Xavier demoted her to the status of New Mutant, and how it tainted her every pleasure. Heat ravaged her skin as Plague's loathsome touch worked its malice on her system. She felt something fragile wither in her chest as Peter's gentle yet relentless words echoed in her mind, and recalled how she wanted to curl up and die, not knowing how she would ever survive someone she loved and desired so much telling her he no longer returned her feelings.

Kitty gritted her teeth as tears welled in her eyes, willing herself not to shed them as more memories came. Harpoon's disintegration blast washed over her, setting her nerves afire. She felt again an enervating listlessness envelope her soul as her molecules slowly spread apart, bringing down onto her complete annihilation. She remembered the devastation she felt when she watched the X-Men die in Dallas, and how she raged when she learned a year later that they were still alive, that the three people who held such large parts of her heart, Storm, Logan and Peter, had not seen fit to tell her.

Kitty folded herself nearly in two, gasping a sob into her hands. _Please stop please stop please stop_. But the touch of Misery knew no mercy, and the memories continued. Again before her eyes Illyana died, destroyed by the mad Legacy of Stryfe. She watched Peter, in righteous wrath, denounce all he once stood for and pledge fealty to Magneto. Cold rain whipped at her on Muir Island as she felt her heart shatter as she tricked Peter into the hands of the X-Men, its place then filled by an aching loneliness as he left for Avalon on his brave but futile quest to reform the Acolytes.

For a brief moment Kitty rose above her pain, and in that slight span thought in amazement just how much of her life revolved around Peter. They were like twin stars, dancing through time and space, desiring to come close, yet tearing unwittingly at each other when they did. Then the voracious pain seized her again, submerging her beneath its savage currents. Fear for Pete Wisdom surged through her as Peter battered him with primal strength, and her anger at Peter for this vicious, selfish act scalded her anew. She remembered nights where uncertainty twisted inside her as she realized that, despite all Pete meant to her, she still loved Peter very much, and how those growing seeds of doubt drove her to commit an act that hurt Pete cruelly and drove him away. She recalled the bitter sorrow that seeped into her when, months later, after she, Peter and Kurt had returned to the X-Men, and after a period of time where she and Peter were slowly growing closer, they mutually, silently, broke away from one another, Kitty because of the guilt she still felt over how she treated Wisdom, Peter because he was afraid he would hurt her again, doubting that he was worthy of her. Her previously bright, cheery outlook soured, and she became dour, savage.

Her resistance worn away, Kitty began to cry, great sobs wracking her body, the way she cried for hours when the Professor told her Peter had committed suicide in order to cure the Legacy virus once and for all.

And then the pain faded, leaving her drained and tired and hollow. She fell back into yielding softness and wholesome, welcome slumber overtook her.

In his chambers, Nikolai the Deathless sat before the great fireplace, staring sightlessly at the crackling flames. For the second time in four days he cried, silent tears, crystalline in the fire's light, running down his face, crossing the curving tracks of his black thorn-vine tattoos. Visions he could not correlate, memories he could not possibly possess, scourged his thought and his soul. He closed ocean-blue eyes, bared his teeth, hissed in distress. The void within his chest howled.

On his bed in the corner Danila Volkevich rolled over, propped himself on an elbow and peered sleepily at Nikolai. "Elder Brother, what is wrong?"

Nikolai shook his head. "Nothing. Go back to sleep, Danila." Danila frowned, settled back down and for the remainder of the night watched Nikolai through slit eyelids, disquieted by the sight of his elder brother silently grieving for something lost, forgotten, yet still dearly missed.

* * *

After an interminable period Kitty awoke again. Her eyes blinked open and she let out a soft sigh as she stared up at gray, diffuse shadows. She felt completely empty, as weightless and delicate at a crystal figurine. Turning her head to one side seemed a task of Olympian proportions and simple cognitive thought was beyond her. She lay still and rested, waiting patiently for her will and soul to return to the empty vessel of her body. Volition returned to her limbs and the veil of lassitude lifted from her mind. She sat up, ran a hand across her bleary eyes. She remembered waking up earlier, but thankfully her recollection of it was dim. She vaguely recalled being in a state of intense emotional pain, but that was all. With one final sigh she dropped her hand and looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.

Kitty was in a canopied bed, its velvet burgundy curtains drawn tight, dim light seeping between their ruffled tops and the canopy itself. The mattress and pillows were the softest and most comfortable she had ever laid on, putting even the bed she used when she lived briefly with Courtney Ross to shame. The blankets were thick yet light, and the silken sheets felt deliciously cool against her skin. She realized then with a start that she was naked. That panicked her, but she calmed after checking herself and discovered no sign that anyone had taken liberties with her. She exhaled in relief, reached up to rub the side of her neck, her palm coming into contact with something cool and hard. She blinked and frowned, exploring with her fingers the band of smooth metal encircling her throat, with what felt like a small, faceted jewel set in the section beneath her chin. She attempted to phase it off, but could not. Her frown deepened. She reached out, trying to phase her hand through the curtain to her right. No matter how hard she tried she could not pass through it.

"Perfect," Kitty groaned, and fell back into the pillows. If it had not been obvious before, it most certainly was now – Peter had escaped and captured her. She covered her face with both hands and vented a soft growl of frustration. What a predicament; she was stark naked, her powers inhibited and she had no clue where in the world she was, save that she was pretty sure it was neither Westchester or Kansas. _Things could be worse_, she thought. _Least I'm not locked up in some dank, rat-infested dungeon, or at the top of the highest tower of the farthest castle._ She smiled at that thought, but it faded quickly. _At least I'm not dead._ She grimaced, let her arms drop to her sides and listened, stretching out with all of her awareness. She sensed nothing nearby. Kitty rolled on her sided, pulled a curtain back a bit and cautiously peeked out.

The large room Kitty found herself in was sumptuously appointed. Golden carpet covered the floor, with intricately patterned Oriental rugs thrown about here and there. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood. An elegant cherry wood nightstand was close at hand, right by the head of Kitty's bed, set against the closest wall. A fine wrought brass lamp was the source of the gentle light illuminating the room. Beyond it, in a corner, was a clothes stand, a number of robes carefully arrayed on it. Kitty looked around further, saw hanging tapestries, tables, beautifully made chairs, a divan, and more, but found no sign of her clothes, or of any guards. She pursed her lips, gave one last look around, then slipped out of bed, padded to the stand and took down the nearest robe. It was made of blood red silk, embroidered with golden birds and roses. On the back, its wings outstretched and its head pointed upwards, was something that looked like a phoenix sigil, but not quite. Kitty examined it closely and realized it was a depiction of _Zhar Ptitsa_, the Firebird, the most beautiful of animals in Russian legend. Kitty slipped on the robe, tying its golden belt tight. It fit her perfectly, as if tailored just for her. The fine-woven silk felt wonderful against her bare skin, clinging to her, caressing her intimately. Kitty shivered, a slight pink starting to stain her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her chest and glanced around the chamber. A full-length mirror, framed in gold, hung on one wall. She looked at herself in it and let out a soft breath. The robe looked like liquid ruby laced with gold, shaping itself against the contours of her body, forming a scintillating corona that enhanced her natural beauty. The metal collar around her neck was a slim silver band, set with a single blue gemstone, gorgeous in its simplicity. Kitty stared at herself, awestruck. _Am I being ensorcelled? Is Peter trying to tempt me with this beautiful prison?_ With a wrench she tore gaze away from the mirror. Mild vertigo washed over her, but it quickly passed. She began to further explore her bedroom, careful not look back into the mirror, wary of other subtle traps.

Two doors led out of the bedroom. Kitty tried the nearest and found it locked. The other was opposite the right side of the bed. As she approached it its knob turned and was slowly pulled open. Kitty stopped, settling into a ready stance. A woman stepped into the bedroom. She was slightly taller than Kitty, slightly older. Her skin was pale, almost as white as snow, her hair was like lambent jet, and her eyes were a misty, unfocused gray. She was dressed in a simple dress of checkered yellow and white, trimmed in black. The woman looked oddly translucent, insubstantial, like a weak image projected onto a wall. She took hold of her long skirt and curtsied low to Kitty, bowing her head and looking down at the floor. As she moved, she seemed to flicker and shimmer, her form fading then sharpening before Kitty's eyes. Looking at her made Kitty feel strange, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. The woman straightened, stepped to one side and gestured at the doorway she entered through. Kitty stayed still. The woman tilted her head slightly and gestured again. Kitty glanced around the bedroom, pursed her lips and walked to the door. The woman stepped back, head bowed submissively.

The next chamber was a spacious marble tiled bathroom. Soft, pastoral murals decorated the whitewashed walls, lending the room an atmosphere of relaxing tranquility. A huge golden bathtub dominated the room. Its four curving legs rested on large onyx spheres clutched in falcons' claws. Two more women, looking like sisters of the first, stood by the tub, one filling it with buckets of steaming water, the other holding a silver tray, on which were folded white linen towels and washcloths and various small stoppered crystal bottles. Both women turned towards Kitty, took a step back and curtsied deeply.

Kitty glanced around the bathroom, and could not help feeling a little overawed. _If more super-villains treated me like this, I'd let myself get captured more often_. Kitty shook her head sharply, chastising herself for her mental quip. The sense of subtle peril passed through her again. She looked over her shoulder at the first woman, who waited patiently behind her, barring her way back to the bedroom. Kitty frowned and looked back into the bathroom, her tongue pressing against her cheek in thought. Her body ached faintly, and the hot water looked very tempting. The women watched her, servile yet expectant. Kitty sighed and decided to risk it – if she had not been bothered while she slept, she reasoned a bath would be no more dangerous. She stepped into the bathroom. As she did, gentle hands grasped the shoulders of her robe. Kitty gave a little squeak of surprise, turned and brushed the first woman's hands away hard. The woman stepped away, looking at her questioningly. It took Kitty a moment to realize what was going on. "I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I- I didn't mean to be rough. I can take care of myself. You all can go." Kitty made a waving gesture to include all three women. They did not move. Kitty frowned and repeated the order in Russian. The women stayed. Evidently they were here to attend her, but were not beholden to her commands. She thought momentarily of returning to the bedroom, but did not want to risk a commotion yet. _Well, when in Rome..._Biting her lower lip, she untied and removed her robe, holding it in front of her to preserve her modesty. She felt faintly ridiculous, being embarrassed like this, but she could not help it. Taking showers with Pete Wisdom was one thing, but being attended to like medieval royalty by ghostly women was quite another. Sensing her discomfort, the first woman took a large towel from her sister holding the tray of bathing utensils and exchanged it with Kitty for the robe. Kitty wrapped the towel around herself. As she did, the serving woman who had filled the tub left the bathroom. The other two remained. Kitty took a deep breath, gave her attendants a weak smile, and climbed into the steaming bathtub. The hot water felt wonderful. Almost instantly her muscles began to relax, the tension that had tightened them the moment she realized her precarious situation dissipating with the steam. Kitty sat, took another breath, submerged herself beneath the water. She held herself there for almost a minute before coming back up, a pleasurable lassitude suffusing her being. She leaned back against the tub, her neck pillowed on a folded cloth placed on the rim by one of her attendants. Her golden-brown eyes glittered beneath half closed, hooded lids. Her earlier inhibitions forgotten, she did nothing when her towel fell loose from her body and floated away from her.

She spent a half-hour bathing, letting the two servants add salts, soaps and oils to the water but refusing to let them wash her body or her hair. That she attended to herself. When Kitty reluctantly got out, the women moved to dry her off. She took their offered towels but ordered them away. They complied grudgingly. Kitty was somewhat relieved that she had some measure of command over them, and somehow felt she had circumvented another trap by not letting them pamper her completely. The first woman offered her the _Zhar Ptitsa_ robe. She slipped it on and returned to her bedroom. The servant that had slipped out was there. She had pulled a plush stool in front of the full-length mirror and held an ivory comb and an ivory handled brush. Kitty let her self be seated but took the comb and brush and again did her own grooming. The other women left the bedroom through the locked door, but returned just as Kitty finished, carrying with them clothes for her. It consisted of a shimmering gown of blue samite, the gold thread woven into the silk forming gorgeous patterns, abstract yet feminine, a white silk blouse and slip, a red and gold sash, and slippers trimmed with gold and seed pearls. Kitty looked at the clothing, wide-eyed, then at her servants. With a sigh of resignation she allowed them to help dress her, since she was not quite sure how to handle such elaborate clothing. When they finished Kitty gazed in the mirror, enraptured. Like the robe, these clothes fit her perfectly, the gown molding itself to her figure, accentuating it in all the right places. The sash ran through a loop at the small of her back and its ends tied gently around her wrists. As she looked at herself, Kitty recalled her early days with Excalibur, during what they had ended up calling the Cross-Time Caper, when they visited an alternate, fantasy version of England. Briefly engaged to the heir of the realm, she had worn some beautiful, costly gowns, but this one made those seem mere tinsel. Again she had to force her eyes from the mirror, and again a sense of vertigo swept through her, a little stronger than before. She turned to face the servants.

"It is our greatest pleasure to serve thee, _knyazhna_," the women whispered as one. "Call us at your need, and we will come." Their forms wavered, dissipated into milky mist and vanished. Kitty stared at the space they had occupied, then passed her hand over her eyes and shook her head. "_Rusalki_..." she murmured to herself, remembering stories of ghostly young who haunted Russian streams and lakes. She sighed, rubbed her arms, and then tried the door the women had gone through to fetch her clothes. It was now unlocked. Kitty pulled it open. It led to a large sitting chamber, as richly appointed as the bedroom. A fire crackled in a large fireplace, comfortable plush chairs and silken divans set near it. Tapestries and paintings showing scenes out of Russian legend decorated the walls. An oaken door was set in the far wall, opposite of the bedroom door. A small dining table stood in the room's center. On it were set platters of sliced, sugared apples, pears and grapes, sweet pastries topped with white cream, halves of a steaming fresh loaf of bread, crystal pitchers of water, milk and wine, with matching crystal goblets. Kitty's stomach complained softly and she licked her lips. She had no idea of when she last ate. She went to the table and reached for a slice of apple, but stopped, her hand hovering over the fruit before she curled it close and drew it back. _Could this be another trap? _Thoughts of the legend of Persephone, stories of mortals partaking of faery food, came unbidden. She could recall no analogues of such in Russian folklore, but that did not mean it was not possible. Her lips curved in a small frown.

"Have no fear, the food is untainted." Kitty started and looked up. She had not heard the man enter the chamber. He stood in front of the oaken door, tall and thin, his features concealed by shadow. "To poison a guest is an unforgivable breach of hospitality." His voice was thin, sardonic, as cold as an artic wind. A chill chased up and down Kitty's spine. He stepped forward into the light, and Kitty let out a startled gasp. The man was emaciated, little more than a skeleton with yellowing, parchment thin skin stretched drum-tight over its bones. Agate hard eyes set deep in cavernous eye-sockets gleamed unblinking. Thin, black lips curled away from prominent, yellowing teeth, forming an obscene leer. Thatches of coarse white hair sprouted from his skull. A golden circlet decorated his broad brow, a red caftan of rotting silk covered his wasted body, and he held a gold and ivory scepter in a withered, claw-fingered hand. As he walked further into the room, the fire began to gutter and the air chilled perceptibly. He halted by the table, standing five feet from Kitty. She found it very hard to meet this hideous man's eyes. The man bowed slightly. "Greetings to thee, Katerina Anna. I am Koschei the Deathless."

Kitty's eyes went wide and she fell back a step. She stared at Koschei, speechless, then closed her eyes tight. "Stupid," she gritted through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have guessed. The title Peter was using – God, I was staring right at it..."

"You should not be so harsh on yourself. You were understandably... disconcerted, not performing at your best."

Kitty shook her head. "That's no excuse. Not being at my best gets me into situations like this."

"There are worse places you could be, my lady Pryde."

"That's debatable. I know your reputation, Koschei." Kitty shuddered, inhaled deeply and pulled herself together. She opened her eyes and looked unflinching at the man. As strange as it seemed, she was not quite as frightened as before. True, she was in the presence of an undead sorcerer of legendary might, but at least she now knew what she was facing. As Scott said, it is better to know than not to. "Shouldn't you be hanging on a hook in some noblewoman's closet, begging for three sips of water?"

Koschei threw back his head and laughed. "How audacious... courage, wits _and_ beauty – a rare combination. My son has taste, though his common sense leaves something to be desired."

Kitty bristled. "Peter is not your son."

Koschei nodded. "True, Piotr is not, but Nikolai is. Through arcane art and matchless craft I brought him into this world, taught him lore, focused his ambitions. I am more his sire than any illiterate peasant."

"How did you do it?" Kitty demanded. "_Why_ did you do it?"

"Because I desired to," said Koschei carelessly. "It would have been a shame, to let the legacy he is heir be lost amongst the dust of centuries."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you mean."

"I am surprised that you don't; you have been touch by it. But then I must make allowances... would you like to hear a story, my lady Pryde? I think it is one owed to you, since you have played a part in it."

Kitty considered the wizard's words carefully. "All right, go ahead. It isn't like I have anything pressing to do right now."

Koschei chuckled. He reached for a slice of apple and in his hand it crusted over with frost; it crunched loudly as he chewed and swallowed it. He then poured for himself a glass of wine. He turned his back to Kitty, held his glass to his eye, swirling the dark, rich liquid. He downed his drink in one crude gulp and without looking threw the goblet into the fireplace. "Rasputin," he whispered. "Consider that name. It is one replete with power, with darksome history." He glanced over his shoulder at Kitty. "You know of me, so I surmise you are familiar with the great stories of Russia, the _skazki_ and the _byliny_, correct?" Kitty nodded once. Koschei turned his head away. "Then you are no doubt aware of a theme running through many of them, how, in families, great power always descends to the youngest children - the youngest son, for example, the third of three, and the youngest daughter. Children such as your precious Piotr and Illyana."

Kitty's mouth was suddenly very dry. She swallowed with difficulty. "Peter and Illyana only had one brother," she said softly.

"No, there were two. They and Mikhal did not know of their eldest brother Alyosha. It was a strenuous pregnancy and a difficult birth. He lived but a week, and the Rasputins thought it best not to tell their surviving children." Koschei turned to face Kitty. His agate eyes burned with a hot, greedy light. "Third son and youngest daughter, scions of a bloodline of sorcerers which had not manifested its powers for centuries... imagine the violence released when a mighty river balked for too long finally sunders its dam – that is how great their potential was. In my sleep, I dreamed of their coming. When they were born I heard dragons roar out in homage. When they walked, I felt the earth tremble beneath their tread. Ah! If only I could have taken them as apprentices when they were young! What miracles we could have wrought..." The greedy light vanished from Koschei's eyes like snuffed candle-flames. He scowled, making himself even more hideous. "Unfortunately I could not. I slumbered, bound by my enemies in fetters of banality. When I finally shook free of my chains, it was too late – Piotr was too old, his mind set down prosaic paths by his parents, his community, and your Professor Xavier, and Illyana was corrupted beyond recovery by that bungler Belasco. Even when she reverted back to a younger age, the taint of his tutelage prevented me from taking advantage of her. So I forgot them, pursued other paths." His scowl faded, his thin lips contorting into a mocking smile. "But then, when least expected, fortune favored me. You came, my lady, bringing your first love back to his home in a most... _vulnerable..._ state. And for that, Katerina Anna, I will be forever grateful to you."

The blood left Kitty's face in a sudden rush, blanching her white. She began to tremble violently, and placed a hand on the table for support. Koschei's leer widened. "Yes, I am grateful to you and your friends and the foolish games you played with the dregs of the so-called superior men. Grateful for the role you all played in driving Piotr from a fruitless life-"

Kitty looked away from Koschei and looked into the fire. Her breathing came hard and harsh. "Shut up," she rasped.

"- and placing him on the path of his rightful destiny, as a Great Prince of the Earth, my beloved son and childe."

"_**I said shut up**!_" Kitty screamed, glaring at Koschei, her golden-brown eyes burning, brimming with tears. A great rage roared within her, demanding release. It took all her will to keep from attacking Koschei. His eyes gleamed and his leer was so wide it transformed his face into a grotesque, mocking death's head. Suddenly her wrath vanished, drenched by a cold blast of satori. _He is deliberately goading me._ She breathed in softly. _But why?_ She turned her back on Koschei, wrapped her arms around herself and stepped a few paces away. "It won't work," she whispered. "You can't trap me and you can't trick me. I won't do what you want."

Koschei's black lips flattened into a thin line, and the amused look in his eyes went flat. "I want nothing more than to continue my story and finish my explanation of the realities of your situation, Katerina Anna."

"Then go on. The sooner you finish, sooner you can get the hell out of here."

"You are overly pert, girl," growled Koschei. "Perhaps I will have Nikolai instruct you in proper matters, before all is done. Yes... My Nikolai, my precious son... let me tell you of his birth. It is a legendary tale. Two years ago you scattered Piotr's ashes to the four winds. I was there when you did. I gathered them in an acorn shell and kept them close to my heart." He touched a bony finger to his withered breast. "Here in my hall, I carved a coffin from crystal. In it I mixed the ashes with Russian soil, Russian steel, and the blood of the _zemi_, the great dragons of Hell. For seven days and seven nights I baked that mixture with sorcerer's fire, tending it ceaselessly, exerting all my craft and thought upon it. And at the end of the seventh night, when in the land above the cock crowed, greeting the dawn, the lid of the coffin shattered. Reborn, my servants helped pull him out, wet and glistening and beautiful – my son, my fist, my heir... my darling Nikolai. At my feet, he learned lore. At the hands of the war gods of Hell, he learned how to fight. My will is his will; he knows nothing else."

Kitty turned to face Koschei. "You are wrong. He knows me."

Koschei sneered. "He is mine, girl, body and soul. Nothing you can do can change that."

"We'll see." For a long, interminable time they locked eyes, Koschei sneering, Kitty righteous and determined, their wills clashing. Finally Koschei chuckled and bowed slightly. "I have bored you long enough. Farewell, my lady Pryde."

"What are you going to do with me?" demanded Kitty.

"Nothing. I but wanted to take measure of you. I am suitably impressed."

Kitty snorted. "You'll be even more impressed when I kick your ass."

Koschei chuckled again. "A shame, a beautiful woman possessing such a vulgar mouth."

"Laugh all you want, but I promise you, Koschei: I will free Piotr, and I will see you destroyed." Indifferent, Koschei shrugged.

"I have heard such boasts before. I live, while those who made such vows are dust. Not even Illya Muromets or Dobrynya Nikitich could slay me forever. Think you will succeed, girl, where such mighty heroes of antiquity failed? Now and forever, I am Deathless." Koschei sighed. "But come, such talk is wearisome. I owe you a debt, and as my son's... _guest_... I also owe you hospitality. Enjoy the comforts of my hall, explore as you will – all doors are open to you, save those that are locked." He turned, walked to the oaken door and opened it. Before he stepped from the room, he glanced back over his shoulder and leered. "But of course," he added. "Those lead to places you will not wish to go." Koschei left, shutting the door behind him.

Kitty shuddered violently, sat down in the plush chair closest to the fireplace, droping her face into her hands. With Koschei's leaving the fire roared back to life. Warmth returned to the room, but Kitty still felt abominably cold.

* * *

I originally planned on this chapter being longer, but decided to stop it here for a few reasons. One is that, at my best estimate, it would have ended up being about fourteen or fifteen thousand words. While I'm not afraid of long chapters (War In San Francisco pushed close to ten thousand) something that long felt a bit unwieldy. Another is that I couldn't think of a smooth way to segue from Kitty's meeting with Koschei to her dealings with the other inhabitants of the Hall. Finally, continuing with the chapter would have probably meant not posting any more _Deathless_ for at least another week or two. I did not want to wait that long, and I felt that stopping after Koschei's revelations and Kitty's vow made for a good place to break off and cool down. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed this.

AmoKitty – Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm surprised at how easy the characterizations of everyone has become, though I did have a bit of trouble with Scott and Emma. Afraid the story won't be as ensemble for another chapter or so, but I hope the focus on Kitty this chapter (along with learning more about Koschei) and on Kitty and Nikolai/Piotr the next one will make up for it.

As for Nikolai/Piotr, as the brief glimpse of him this chapter shows, he is in a terrible state of confusion. Kitty's surmise in Chapter 6 was correct – Koschei's sorceries are preventing Nikolai from realizing the visions he's seeing are past memories. It is confusing him to no end. But perhaps those bindings are not as strong as Koschei thinks – in previous chapters there are a few hints that Piotr's old morality has a powerful hold over his new incarnation as Nikolai. We'll hopefully be getting a bit into his mind next chapter. I also have an idea for a story concerning Piotr's training under the 'war gods of Hell' Koschei mentioned, but that is a while down the road. As you can imagine, it was far from pleasant...

Yup, Nikolai won this round. He has two-thirds of the key and has captured Kitty. But the X-Men aren't down yet, and there are a few surprises ahead. And I'll see what I can do about more Solovey. Thank you very much again for the kind words.

Darkstorm 5000 – Thanks for the review and the praise! I'm sorry I'm so far behind on reviewing your work, which is very good. I'll try to catch up soon. I'm glad you've liked what you've read so far. I'm pretty proud of the Kitty/Emma fight myself, and yeah, I'm pretty sure too a situation like that would go down that way. As I've said before, I'm a bit surprised it didn't garner more comment, but no matter. I hoped you enjoyed _The Gilded Cage_, and I'll have the next chapter out as soon as feasibly possible.

B – Thanks for the praise and the words of encouragement. I have plans for quite a few Peter/Kitty stories rumbling about in my hollow little skull. I've been neglecting my original fiction something fierce, but I've really been enjoying myself. Also keep your eyes peeled for something special Lia Fail and I are cooking up.

And speaking of my partner-in-crime... ;)

Lia Fail – Please please please don't hate me! ;) I know I told you therer would be Kitty-Nikolai/Piotr interaction for this chapter, but as I said, things didn't quite work out. Next chapter will be almost entirely Kitty and Nikolai and Kitty/Nikolai, I promise. Scout's honor.

Thanks for the kind words. I'm surprised on how much Hank has grown on me. I'm really enjoying writing the big blue guy a lot. I have some Avengers trades that have him hanging out with Simon Williams, and they're lots of fun. I like Wing, and I think Hisako is adorable. I have some small plans for them in the future, though it won't be in _Deathless_.

More back-story on Koschei this time out, with the reason he reincarnated Piotr revealed. Hope you didn't mind the 'revelation' of a third Rasputin brother. Don't worry; I have no plans on having him show up anytime soon. No Summers nonsense here! As for Savin, there is a line in the wonderful haunted house novel _The Haunting of Hill House_ and the excellent movie based on it, _The Haunting_ (the old black and white one, not the dreadful remake) about the dangers of having a mind closed like a locked door. Savin never believed his father's stories about Koschei. When Nikolai and Danila Volkevich confronted him, the lock door to his mind was ripped asunder, and it destroyed him. Also, I see what you mean about Koschei being vindictive. You are quite right about that, as future events will show.

No problem about plugging _Moving Forward_. It deserves all the kudos it gets. I think I've managed to shake off the last vestiges of burn out for now. I plan on finishing Deathless, and I hope to write some more stories after it. I have plans. And no, Koschei is _not _happy, but he has reasons for tolerating what Nikolai did for now. All will be revealed, including the location of the Hall.

Thanks for the heads-up on _Secret Wars_. I will give it a miss. I remember hearing about Zsaji's empathy having manipulative effects; wasn't Johnny Storm also lusting after her? From the blurb I read over in the Colossus bio at Uncanny , you are right about poor Peter being out of character. It's hard to believe that someone with that much integrity would forget so easily about someone he cared for so much. Hell, I remember hearing that Pete took down the entire Wrecking Crew, a team that gives _Thor_ headaches, all by himself, because he wanted to get back to Kitty. Ah well... stuff happens. Let's just keep our fingers cross with Whedon.

And thanks for the favorable comparison to Cassaday here and Whedon over in your notes to _The Knight and the Maiden_. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Talk to you soon.

Next up – _Deathless _Chapter 8: Remembrances.

Thanks for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	10. Chapter 8 Confrontations

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 8 – Confrontations

Kitty Pryde was lost. The arched, vast corridors stretched out interminably before her, shadow-choked, the brass lanterns and oil wrapped torches set along the walls providing but feeble illumination. Despite the softness of her tread, her footsteps echoed loud and ominous. Several times she heard snatches of faint, intelligible conversation, but had yet to see anyone. Occasionally she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, but was never swift enough to make out what scuttled into the concealing murk.

"Wonderful..." Kitty muttered to herself, rubbing at her arms, glowering around as she walked, searching for any sign of life. The beautiful gown her captors had provided her was thick and well made, but did little to stave off the dank, unnatural chill of these black halls. She sorely regretted leaving her warm, comfortable chambers, but after her conversation with Koschei the Deathless an atmosphere of crushing oppression had saturated the place; she had to leave them, if only for a little while, and maybe, if she were smart and lucky enough, she might luck on a way out of the sorcerer's halls. A slim hope, but one she cherished. She had escaped from worse situations before.

She had not counted on getting so hopelessly lost. At first glance the corridors seemed to be laid out in a simple grid, but their pattern was far more intricate than initial appearances suggested. She had turned a corner not twenty feet from the door to her rooms when a dizzying spell of disorientation nearly prostrated her. In a slight panic she double-backed, only to find herself in a strange hallway, her door nowhere in sight. Taking a firm hold of herself, she began to systematically search the stone corridors. All she succeeded in doing was getting herself thoroughly confused.

_I feel like a character from _The Haunting of Hill House, she thought. _Things move when I'm not looking at them._ Kitty shivered. _The difference is, in Hill House it was doors opening and closing themselves, or statues shifting by near-imperceptible degrees - I think here entire corridors are rearranging themselves. _She came upon a door to her left, flanked on either side by brass lanterns wrought in the shape of skulls, set in shallow niches. Golden light streamed through eye sockets and nostrils, seeped between grinning teeth. Kitty tested it, and to her surprise its knob turned in her hand. Every other door she had come across had been locked, and thanks to the collar around her neck she could not phase through them. Kitty hesitated for a moment, then carefully pushed the door open. Hot air and bright light flooded over her, the sudden contrast to the chill and gloom of the hall making her flinch away. She blinked several times, squinted her eyes through the glare and looked through the doorway. Beyond it was a vast, natural cavern, its floor cratered with small pits of golden fire, Stalactites hanging precariously from the ceiling. Kitty slammed the door shut and walked away, feeling slightly ill from the sudden shifts in temperature.

A few feet away Kitty stopped and looked over her shoulder. She thought she had heard something, a sound different from the whispers and dry scuttles. She heard it again, louder now, an odd metallic ring echoing to her. It continued in a steady rhythmn, growing louder with each repetition. The ringing became a harsh cacophony, like the clash of countless wind chimes, overlaid by the steady beat of a brass gong. Kitty realized the cause of this racket, but before she could flee, Vultariax stepped into the pool of light cast by the skull lanterns. The Chaos Demon halted and the clashing ceased. Apocalyptic silence smothered the hallway.

Kitty stared at Vultariax in morbid fascination. She had only caught brief glimpses of him from the safety of the Blackbird and during the fight in San Francisco, and had not realized just how grotesque the metallic abomination was. It pained her eyes to look at the discord of his form – the heavily muscular torso sprouting far too lean, wiry limbs that terminated in monstrously over-sized fists and hawk's claws; the garish, prismatic plumage of his folded wings; the steel raptor's head mounted on a two-foot long, segmented brass neck that constantly undulated; the faceted topaz eyes, which gleamed with a sinister light, staring at her with palpable greed. Kitty felt her stomach twist in fear and it took all her training to keep from setting into an obvious combat stance.

Vultariax's head swayed back and forth. His hiss sounded like metal being ground by an emery wheel. "What do we have here?" he asked himself, his voice the toll of a leaden bell. "A tasty morsel, treading in places best left unexplored. You should not have left your sanctuary, mortal child."

Kitty audibly swallowed. "I was told by Koschei I could explore as I will, with nothing exempted saved doors all ready locked." Somehow Kitty managed to speak without stuttering. After all she had seen in her relatively short life, there was no way she would allow herself to show fear to this malevolent freak.

"Did he now? The master neglected to inform me. I think you are lying, to save yourself from the punishment for trespass." Vultariax took a step forward, feathers jangling, his taloned paw booming against the stone floor. Kitty clenched her fists and stood her ground, her stubborn pride refusing to let her back down, despite the nullification of her powers.

"Don't even think about it. I'm Pi- Nikolai's guest. He won't like it if you touched me."

"I am a Demon of Chaos. I do what I please. Besides, I have yet to be paid. Koschei's whelp owes me." Vultariax darted his head close to Kitty. Fetid breath washed over her face, making her gag. She stepped back, covering her nose with her hand. Vultariax snickered, an odd sound to be uttered by such a creature. "Now that I've taken a closer look at you, I now understand why the Prince of the Earth took you prisoner. There are darksome energies in you; your scent makes my ichor run quick and hot. Such a rare, delectable treat." A purple, forked tongue licked the notched ridges of his hooked beak. "Come child, give us a taste."

"BACK OFF!" Kitty struck Vultariax in the side of the head with a palm thrust. It hurt her hand, but it surprised the Chaos Demon. His head whipped away and he took two startled steps back. Kitty went into an offensive stance. "No way," she hissed through gritted teeth. "No way am I going to let a thing like you bully me, and no way in _hell _am I going to give you anything. I don't know how you survived Wolverine dicing you, but I swear, if you don't get out of my sight, I'll make you wish you hadn't!"

Vultariax stared at her dumbfounded, then shrieked in outrage. "You dare? Mortal wretch, I'll-"he reached out with his oversized hands, their curling brass claws flashing. Kitty set herself, preparing to dodge, strike and run.

"Vultariax," a powerful, resonant voice boomed. The Chaos Demon checked his attack, whirled around and was lifted off his feet, slammed into a wall so hard the stone cracked and cratered. Nikolai held the abomination suspended in the air, gripping him by the base of his serpentine neck with one gauntleted hand. Nikolai was clad in his fighting finery – dark blue greatcoat and black trousers, embroidered with golden dragons and serpents, with knee-high leather boots. A broadsword and poniard hung buckled from a silver buckled, gold-tooled belt. His head was covered by a hood and steel skullcap, and his face lay concealed beneath a golden mask, behind which his eyes burned white-hot. Vultariax struggled against the relentless grasp pinning him. Nikolai punched him in the side of the stomach, hard. The demon shrieked in pain and writhed. He glared at Nikolai and opened his mouth, a loud snoring sound rumbling in his throat. Nikolai pulled him back from the wall and slammed him again, shaking the entire corridor. "Go ahead, Chaos Demon," he said. "Yawn at me. See what good it does you." Vultariax clashed his jaw shut and let out a hiss of submission. Nikolai slammed him against the wall a third time, then pulled him away and threw him down the corridor, away from Kitty. Vultariax landed on his feet, staggered, but steadied himself. Only then did Kitty notice someone by Nikolai's side – the black haired young man who had briefly attacked her and fought with Hank in San Francisco - the werewolf. He was crouched slightly, ready to spring.

Vultariax turned to face Nikolai, hissed again and clutched at his side. "You should keep better watch over your chattels, if you don't want them molested, o Prince of the Earth."

"Watch your tongue, Vultariax," Nikolai answered in a controlled, angry tone. "My father may find you useful, but if I catch you even _looking_ at the _knyazhna_ the wrong way, your fate will make the great Lords of Chaos themselves quail."

"Bold words, boy. Princess... bah! I know what she is – spoils of war. Misery told me so. I want my rightful due."

"Katerina Anna is guest of both my father and myself. She is to be treated accordingly."

"A convenient lie," said Vultariax in disdain. "The deceptions you creatures of the lower planes play on yourselves never cease to amaze me. I know why you brought her here. I can smell your desire from a mile away." Nikolai took hold of his sword's hilt and began to draw. Vultariax hissed and retreated a step. "Hold your temper. I go. But heed my advice, boy: your lust for this chit distracts you from your purpose. Fuck her, and be done with it." Vultariax wheeled around and strode off, his plumage rattling out a strident clangor.

Nikolai and the young man watched the Chaos Demon leave. When he could no longer be heard, Nikolai sheathed his sword and the youth relaxed. Nikolai turned to Kitty. She realized that she had been holding her breath, and began to breathe again. She noticed Nikolai's eyes darken from hot, angry white to their usual deep gold. He placed his right hand over his heart and bowed to her. "I beg for your forgiveness, my lady. I deeply regret seeing you treated so. Evidently I was not as... _emphatic _as I should have been, when I informed my _druzhina _of your status here. I promise you this will not happen again." He straightened from his bow. "I also implore you to forget what Vultariax said. It is the nature of Chaos Demons' to spout venom and lies. You are not chattel, but our cherished guest. Your presence is a warm light illuminating these drear halls."

Kitty exhaled softly and against her better judgment a wry smile curved her lips. "Cherished guest, huh? That's nice to know. Does that mean you won't mind if I ask a favor?" Nikolai nodded. "Great! Then could you please arrange some transportation so I can get back to Westchester? Don't think I'm ungrateful; I've been treated wonderfully, Vultariax aside – not that I expect manners from a Satanic Big Bird – but I have classes I need to teach. My students and I have just hit the first crucial part of my course plan, and I _really_ have to get back there for it. So could you be a dear and open a portal to the Institute, or at the very least let me call them to let them know I'll be out for a few days?"

Nikolai blinked, canted his head slightly to the right, blinked again and looked at her in silence. Kitty got the distinct impression he was smiling beneath his mask. Kitty felt her own lips twitch as her smile widened slightly. The young man looked at Kitty, then at Nikolai, then back at Kitty again, and growled softly. Finally Nikolai spoke, his tone definitely amused. "Alas, I am afraid that is not feasible. In a few days, perhaps, but not now."

Kitty nodded to herself. "So, I guess when you say 'cherished guest', you actually mean 'prisoner'."

"Those terms are often interchangeable," Nikolai said mildly. "But at least you will find your cell far more comfortable than the one your friends provided me."

"I have to admit, my rooms _are_ quite nice. I was a bit surprised by the body servants, though. Can't say I care much for them."

"Oh? Are they inadequate?"

"Far from it. Let's just say I'm too used to being the only ghost in a room."

Unexpectedly, Nikolai laughed. Kitty never heard him laugh before. It contained none of the cruelty or mockery Ororo had described, but was instead hearty and good-natured. A warm glow lit in Kitty's chest. The young man stared at Nikolai with incredulous surprise. Nikolai's laughter subsided to a chuckle, and shook his head. "Ah, Katya, you are a wit. I wanted to tell you that before, but... ah well. I wish I could continue this conversation," he said wistfully. "But I have tasks I must attend to. I will visit you later, though, if you like." Without waiting for her to answer, he bowed to her again, turned on his heel and walked away. The young man glared at her suspiciously before following.

"Wait, Piotr," Kitty called after him. Nikolai hesitated mid-step, but continued. He spoke, humor fled from his voice, his tone again a cold, hard bass. "I have told you, my name is Nikolai."

"That's your father's name," Kitty said. That stopped him. He froze for a moment, then twisted around to face her.

"My father is Koschei the Deathless."

"Your father is Nikolai Rasputin," Kitty answered fiercely. "And your mother is Alexandra. They were good, honest people who loved you very much. I can't imagine how they would feel if they knew you had forgotten them."

Nikolai did not answer. He stared at her, his golden eyes narrowing behind his mask. He turned fully around and walked back to her. The young man watched, growled, and retreated backwards a few steps. Nikolai halted a pace away. Kitty swallowed. It was hard to meet those deep gold eyes, but she refused to look away. She stared boldly into their depths and waited.

"You said 'were'," Nikolai murmured. "'They were good, honest people' you said... correct?" Kitty nodded. "Does that mean... they are no more?"

Kitty bit her lower lip. "Yes, I... I'm afraid so. They died five years ago."

Nikolai closed his eyes, turned his masked face away. "This pains me," he muttered. "Koschei is my father. That is undeniable fact. And yet..." He opened his eyes and looked back at Kitty. "Katya, understand this. I bear neither you nor your friends ill will. I have no wish to contest with you heroes. Yet when you interfere with my tasks, I must fight, for I am but the instrument of my fath- of Koschei's will."

Kitty swallowed again. Her heart began to accelerate as a nervous hope suffused her. "You are far more than that," she said carefully.

"Perhaps," Nikolai conceded grudgingly. "You hold mysteries that taunt me without mercy. I know if that I do not explore them, I will never know peace. That is why I took you."

"I have no mysteries, only the truth."

"Perhaps," he repeated, softer than before. He sighed. "Unfortunately, truth or mystery, it must wait, for my duties will not. May I visit you tonight, Katya?" Kitty nodded in answer. Nikolai's eyes flickered blue. He reached up with a gauntleted hand, bringing it close to her cheek. But then the gold returned to his eyes. He dropped his hand, bowed his head eloquently, and turned to go.

"Uh, Piotr?" Kitty ventured. Again Nikolai stopped and looked at her, and Kitty felt her hope grow more sure when he did not chastise her for using that name. "Could you... ummm... tell me where my rooms are, before you go? I'm sorta lost..."

Nikolai nodded. "I forget how labyrinthine the Hall; I am inured to its pattern and dwemor. You may become so too, if you stay long enough. But for now – Danila."

"Yes, Elder Brother?" the young man answered.

"Please escort Lady Katerina back to her suite."

"As you wish, Elder Brother." Danila Volkevich swiftly strode pass Nikolai and Kitty, gesturing curtly at her to follow. Kitty thanked Nikolai, then, struck by a mischievous impulse, smiling impishly, she curtsied to him as formally as he had bowed to her, and headed after Danila. Nikolai watched her go, standing still in the hallway long after she left his sight. Something stirred in his chest – not the void that had so often howled hungrily after his first encounter with Kitty in New York, but instead a gentle warmth, unlike anything he ever experienced in his short existence. It felt good. He let his thought bask in it as he walked to the barracks in order to conduct the tiresome task of preparing his _zalozhniy_ for the search for the Eye of Volos.

Kitty found herself hard-pressed to keep up with Danila. She nearly had to run after him. The young man moved quickly, his shoulders stiff. Anger and hostility radiated off of him in palpable waves. Kitty wished Peter had seen fit to escort her himself, or at least call one of the _rusalki_ assigned to wait on her. Danila took lefts and rights seemingly at random, and before long Kitty again felt totally disoriented. She finally had to ask, "Are we going the right way?"

"Yes," snapped Danila. Kitty frowned but did not comment. She asked another question.

"Is there anyone else here besides Koschei, Nikolai, you and the other _druzhina_? I kept on hearing voices, but I didn't run into anyone."

"There are _zalozhiny _and _kholops_ about. You have not seen them because they know how to stay in their place and out from underfoot." Kitty bristled, but again held her tongue.

After ten minutes Danila stopped before a door bracketed by elegant brass lanterns. "Your chambers," he growled.

"Thank you," Kitty said, equally terse. She made for the door, but Danila blocked her way. "What?" she demanded.

Danila's lips pulled back into a scowl, revealing sharp, white teeth. He stepped close to her, his large, hostile golden eyes boring into her golden-brown ones. "What are you doing to my Elder Brother, _ved'ma_?"

Kitty blinked, startled momentarily at being called a witch, then scowled back. "Get out of my face, mutt," she said in dangerous, level tone.

Danila snarled. "Answer my question."

"You know, I'm getting very tired of people trying to bully me. I didn't back down from a demon, so do you think I'm going to let a punk like you push me around?"

"You do not have a choice in this matter, girl."

"Last chance, _boy_ – get out of my way, else I move you and make it hurt."

Danila opened his mouth to retort, but said nothing. His jaw snapped shut and he stared at her with wide eyes, an amazed look passing over his face. He stepped back, closing his eyes, tilting his head back and stretching his neck. Kitty watched him, wondering what he was doing, when she suddenly remembered reading a long time ago how wolves would bare their throats as a sign of submission. Danila dropped his head and opened his eyes, his expression now contrite and a little sullen.

"My lady, forgive me," he said. "Elder Brother said that I am to treat you as if you were a _knyazhna_, and I have not. It is shameful that my manners deserted me so. Yet I could not help it; the effect you have on my brother disconcerts me."

"What effect?" Kitty asked, her anger forgotten, trying not to let her eagerness to know what Danila meant show.

Danila looked pained, almost frightened. "Last night I woke and saw my Elder Brother sitting before the fire, tears running down his face. I have never seen him cry. I have never seen him laugh, until today." He shook his head. "He has always been stoic, aloof. I know he has affection for me, else why would he tolerate me living in his chambers? He teaches me lore and praises my abilities, but has never shown me the warmth he has displayed for you." He glared. "What are you, to stir such fires in him?"

Kitty considered what Danila told her, her mind racing furiously. Reluctantly, she pushed it aside. She would have plenty of time later to sort through things rationally. Right now she needed to deal with the dangerous young man glowering at her. "I'm his friend," she said simply.

"He has never mentioned you. Someone like you he would have told me about."

"He knew me from before he was Nikolai. His real name is Piotr, and we were close, once." Kitty sighed. "And I guess we still are. I care for him very much, and he felt the same for me. Maybe that's one of the reasons why he..." Kitty shivered, feeling the cold of the hall seep into her flesh again. She had forgotten it; her fear and anger towards Vultariax and the hope kindled by her conversation with Nikolai had driven it away. It returned now, grasping her with malice as she recalled the dark days two years ago when she thought her life would be cold and empty forever. She hugged herself and turned away from Danila.

The young werewolf canted his head slightly, puzzled. "What did Elder Brother do?"

Kitty sighed again. "...He died. He sacrificed himself in order to save others from a disease that was killing people by the thousands. His little sister had died from it. He didn't want other to suffer as she did, and I think he was afraid that I, or one of his other friends, would catch it. Considering what we are and the lives we led, it was a definite possibility. I don't think he could have stood it, so he..." Kitty took a deep breath to steady herself, then faced Danila, her eyes bright and hard. "He died. I scattered his ashes. Koschei gathered them, resurrected Peter and stripped him of his memory, trying to make him a monster. He wasn't entirely successful, because on some level Peter remembers me. Remembers what I meant to him and what I represent."

"I had not realized..." Danila muttered after a moment. "No one told me. I think Solovey maybe mentioned something in passing, but I discounted it. That bandit lies like a Tartar... The master fed Elder Brother the Waters of Life and Death, just as Elder Brother fed me..." He glared again at Kitty. "Do you mean my brother harm?"

"No! I only want what's best for him."

"I do not entirely believe you. I think you have your own agenda." Danila sniffed the air and growled. "Vultariax said he smelled desire on Elder Brother. I smelled nothing, but perhaps he was right. I do not know - demons are perceptive, but they are such great liars they make Tartars seem virtuous. But your scent I can detect, can decipher. It came off of you hot and sweet when you were talking with my brother. You lust for him."

Kitty flushed, blood slamming into her pale face. She returned Danila's glare measure for measure. "That's enough," she snapped.

"It is not entirely carnal," Danila continued, ignoring her command. "There are depths to it I can not fathom. I believe you when you say you wish Elder Brother no ill. All the same, I think you are dangerous. I will tell him so. Farewell, my lady." He sketched a quick bow to Kitty and strode off, quickly vanishing in the gloom of the hall.

"You're right, Danila," Kitty murmured after him. "I am dangerous - more dangerous than you're aware of.... but not to Peter. Never to Peter."

* * *

Again, I meant this chapter to be longer, but the desire to post material and other considerations have truncated it. As I've said before, I'm not afraid of writing long chapters, but I think by breaking up what I once planned on having as one long chapter into small ones serves the story better. Let me know what you think.

Kitty Rasputin – Here's an update, maybe not so quick, but timely at least. Thanks very much for the kind words. And please, don't give up trying to post your stories. If a Luddite like me can figure out the FFNet interface then I'm sure you won't have any problems with it. ï 


	11. Chapter 9 Conversations

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 9 – Conversations

Nikolai the Deathless rested on a silken divan, lost in meditation. Divested of his finery, unmasked, clad in simple white and gray, he sat with his left leg extended, the back of his heel resting against the floor, and his right leg drawn up, his arm laid across his knee. He floated in a tranquil ocean of darkness, golden fire flickering at the corners of his perception. But he was not alone in the redoubt of his private thoughts – Kitty was there, dancing in and out of his awareness, leaving in her steps scenes he once thought inexplicable visions, signs of a discontinuity within his well-ordered, sorcerer's mind. Now he was not so sure.

Nikolai shifted slightly. The visions were clearer now than they were a scant week ago. When they initially manifested, he felt like he were viewing them through a flawed glass, able to see only Kitty and the blonde girl-child in detail, all other figures seeming fuzzy, indistinct. Now they were crystalline, everything, everyone appearing in sharp detail. Sight, sound, scent, touch, he experienced the visions fully, with a clarity that made his experiences of the last two years seem like dreams, nebulous and unreal, up until the fateful day in New York. His experiences then, and in the days that followed, were as equally concrete as what now played out in his mind.

_Katya_. He rolled her name in his mind. The alien, seductive warmth he felt hours before again suffused his being. _She claims that I was not always what I am now. Peter, she calls me. Piotr... Does she tell the truth? I think... I think I am beginning to - _

Nikolai winced as steel portcullises slammed down violently in his mind, shattering the visions, derailing his thought, jolting him rudely out of his meditative trance. His eyes snapped open, and for a long moment he was confused. He could not remember what he was thinking or even where he was. But the moment passed quickly. Nikolai growled, anger rising in him. Something was being denied him, his mind playing traitor to his will. He had lost count of how many times he had been on the verge of an epiphany when something within him forced him away, obfuscating the trails he had blazed. "Intolerable," he muttered. It aggravated him to no end - every time, without fail, having the context he labored so hard to comprehend snatched away. All that remained was the indelible fact that Kitty was important. She held the keys to this mystery. Nikolai dismissed his frustration and with practiced ease slipped back into his meditative trance. What was lost he could quickly rebuild, and each time he did so, he learned a little more, took those unwelcome gates a little longer to shut. Soon he would whelm them altogether, and the answers he sought would be his. All he needed was time.

"Elder Brother."

"Yes?" Nikolai murmured, pulling up and away from the darkness and flame and taunting visions, but not opening his eyes.

Danila Volkevich shifted uncomfortably on his feet, a soft whine of discomfort humming briefly in the back of his throat. "You wanted to be told when twilight came. The sun is setting now."

Nikolai opened his eyes and slowly gained his feet. "Thank you, Danila." He stretched, cricked his neck, shrugged his shoulders. Despite the lack of progress with his memory exercises, he felt refreshed. He looked at his young henchman curiously. "Are you all right? You seem uncomfortable."

"I am well, Elder Brother." Nikolai nodded, not believing him. He well knew that Danila was not happy with Kitty's presence in the Hall. He decided to placate him.

"When was the last time you hunted?" Nikolai asked. Danila blinked and considered briefly.

"Four months. No, half a year. Not since that night you let me run free, just after you first woke me from the Great Sleep."

"Has it been that long? Father and I have had to keep you on a short leash until you settled down. I think now you are ready to be let off it. I will not need you for the rest of the night. Go out, run. Enjoy the feel of hot blood trickling down your throat, the taste of raw venison. The deer should be good and fat, preparing for the coming winter, yes? Harm nothing that goes on two legs, and be back before dawn – those are my only commands."

Danila smiled and sketched a bow, but there was a hard gleam in his eyes. _He tries to bribe me._ He appreciated the gesture, but would not be dissuaded from his purpose. "Thank you, Elder Brother." Nikolai nodded again, turned and walked to a small table set against the wall, beneath an ornate tapestry depicting Dobrynya Nikitich, nine-fold silken whip gripped in a gauntleted fist, waging his epic battle against the great _zmei, _Gorynytch, hellfire blazing from her three mouths. He contemplated the tapestry briefly, then poured ice water from a silver pitcher into a silver goblet and quaffed it in one slow pull. He set the goblet down and snapped his fingers. A misty figure dressed in snow-white livery manifested next to him. The ghost bowed. Nikolai nodded, held out his arm. The ghost draped a folded, crimson silk tablecloth over it, bowed again and vanished. Nikolai took a deep breath and made for the door leading from his chambers to the Hall proper.

"I do not think you should go," Danila suddenly blurted. Nikolai stopped, turned back and looked curiously at the young man.

"What?"

"I do not think you should visit Lady Katerina."

Nikolai's golden eyes narrowed. "Why not?" Danila glanced up at the ceiling, baring his throat, fidgeting beneath his Elder Brother's intense gaze.

"It would not be wise. She is dangerous."

"Of course she is dangerous. She is a hero. Even fettered and at bay, heroes are perilous, but I do not think I am at much risk."

"Because you can not perceive the risk," Danila muttered peevishly. "You are too close to see it, Elder Brother. The hold she has on you is disturbing."

Nikolai arched an eyebrow, canted his head slightly. His lips curved up slightly, forming a small, sardonic smile. "Little Brother," he murmured with amused indulgence, "you are jealous."

Danila's eyes widened and he glared at Nikolai, flushing as incredulous anger ignited in him, made all the more hot by mortification. In truth he was use to being the sole recipient of Nikolai's austere affection, and had little liking for how this captured girl occupied so much of his Elder Brother's attention. "Your brains must have poured out of your ears during your imprisonment," he growled. "She has you bewitched, and you lack the wit to know it."

Nikolai's eyes flared white and his smile became a stern scowl. "That is enough, Danila." Danila flinched, bared his throat again and looked down at his bare feet sullenly.

"I beg your pardon, Elder Brother. I should not have spoken to you so. But it is a sign of how I fear for you. She affects you in ways I can not even guess." The young werewolf looked up with wild, golden eyes. "You were crying last night. Never, _never_ have I seen you shed tears before; neither have I seen you laugh the way you did earlier today. The stoicism, the focus you told me that is so important to cultivate in order to achieve the great purpose the master strives for, you are losing it. It crumbles from you like weathered stone. Your obsession has weakened it. Katerina, she is a _ved'ma_. Through some sorcery she has embedded herself in you mind, Elder Brother. She strives to change you, and to my dismay, she is succeeding. It frightens me, for I think, no matter what she intends, she will end up destroying you!"

Nikolai did not respond. He closed his eyes and considered Danila's words. Danila shook his head and began to pace back and forth nervously. Something clicked into place in Nikolai's mind. His eyes opened and Danila stopped, startled by the strange, ineffable expression on his face.

"Yes," Nikolai murmured. "You are right, Danila. She is changing me. I begin to feel..." He stared at his young henchman, the intensity of his gaze transfixing Danila. "Before New York, before Katya, there was naught but ice within me. I could experience certain emotions – respect for Father, fraternal affection for you – but they were muted... distant, like the echo of an echo. The ice now thaws. She makes it thaw, somehow. There is pain here," he tapped his chest. "A hollowness howling to be filled... with what, I yet do not know. But there is warmth, too. I can't describe it. I have never felt its like before." He turned away from Danila and began to walk to the door. "Is it so dangerous a thing, Little Brother," he called back before leaving, "to feel?" Danila stared at the floor, not knowing how to answer.

* * *

Kitty Pryde sat in a plush chair before the small, pleasant fire crackling gently in the fireplace. She stared into it, using it as a focus of meditation, a cup of cooling tea cradled in her hands, as she considered the way Peter acted and the things Danila told her.

_I made more progress with him than I realized_. She sipped her tea, made a face and set it on the little stand next to her chair. A _rusalki _materialized and took it away. Moments later another _rusalki _appeared and placed a fresh, hot cup for her. Kitty shivered. She was _so _not going to get use to that. She smiled weakly at her ghostly maidservant. "Thank you." The _rusalki _curtsied in response and retreated to the bedchamber. Kitty thought they were preparing it for her to use but was not certain. She drank some of the fresh tea, sighed and settled back into her chair. _I wonder how close he is to remembering? I wonder how much longer before Koschei tries to stop me from making him remember?_ Kitty's eyes narrowed. _But then, why is he tolerating my presence in the first place? Is he so sure of his hold on Peter, or just too arrogant to realize I'm a threat? No, I don't buy either of those. He tried to provoke me for a reason. There's something between Koschei and Peter that I'm not aware of. I have to find out what it is._ Kitty took another sip of tea.

Someone knocked firmly on her door. A _rusalki _emerged from the bedroom and went to answer it. Kitty ordered her to wait and the ghostly woman stopped, looking at her expectantly. Kitty put down her tea, rose from her chair and approached the door. "Who is it?" she called out.

"Nikolai." Kitty opened the door and her brows lifted in surprise when she saw him. He was unmasked, the black thorn-vine tattoos prominent on his pale face, accentuating favorably his strong, chiseled features, his mane of black hair tied in a simple ponytail. He was dressed casually in a white poet's blouse, gray linen trousers and simple gray shoes. A sheathed poniard hung from his hip, hooked to a leather belt with a plan silver buckle. A large, folded sheet of crimson silk was draped over his right forearm. He gave her a slight bow. "Good evening, Katya. May I enter?"

Kitty was about to say yes when she checked herself. She thought for a brief moment then smiled at him. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Of course you do. If you have no desire for my company tell me to depart, and I shall."

"As simple as that, huh? Well, you're in luck tonight. I do want your company." Kitty stepped aside and gestured for Nikolai to come in, closing the door when he did. "I have to admit, you're the politest captor ever to take me prisoner."

"Thank you," said Nikolai, matching her sardonic tone. "And you are by far the most interesting person I have ever kidnapped." Kitty laughed, and a smile flickered across his lips. "Have you eaten yet?"

Kitty shook her head. "I've had some tea, and a piece of sugared apple, but other than that no. I haven't had much of an appetite."

"Let me see if I can change that," Nikolai murmured. He ordered the _rusalki_ to clear the sitting room's dining table. She did so with swift efficiency. When she finished Nikolai walked to the table, unfolded his sheet of silk and with a sharp snap laid it over the table. As the tablecloth settled a veritable feast appeared on top of it. A savory odor pleasantly filled the room. In silver pans were mushroom casserole and meat and cabbage pie, along with radish salad tossed in crystal bowls and loaves of steaming fresh black and white bread. _Forshmak_, a dish of ground beef, lamb and herring baked in breadcrumbs and cheese, and chicken roasted in walnut sauce rested on large silver platters. There were pitchers of ice water and gold wrought ewers of wine. Kitty stared at the array of food and drinks, amazed despite herself, and felt suddenly ravenous. She looked up at Nikolai. He merely bowed his head. "Shall we partake?" All three of Kitty's _rusalki _servants had appeared, setting down fine china and silverware and pulling back chairs. Nikolai waited for Kitty to take her seat before sitting himself.

For the first few minutes Kitty said nothing, her attention absorbed by this fabulous dinner. She sampled everything, and found it all delicious, almost beyond compare, her newly found appetite whetting her appreciation to a fine edge. It took all her self-control not to look like a pig. She drank some ice water, forcing herself to slow down. She noticed Nikolai looking at her. He's countenance was expressionless, save for his eyes; they were slightly narrowed. It was a difficult thing, reading those deep-gold depths, but Kitty thought they looked amused. She finished the rest of her ice water slowly. "What's so funny?" Kitty ventured.

Nikolai spooned up some mushrooms smothered with cheese, popped them in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then washed them down with a pull of wine. His lips curved up slightly. "Nothing. I am just admiring your... gusto. It is rare, seeing a woman so openly appreciative of good food."

Kitty ducked her head, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Guess I have an appetite after all." Her blush faded and she ran a fingertip along the tablecloth, then looked around at the _rusalki_. "This tablecloth, it's like the one in the story about Prince Ivan and Princess Martha, isn't it?"

Nikolai's smile broadened. "Ah, you heard that one, eh? You are familiar with the _skazki_."

"It would have been hard for me not to be, with you telling them to Illyana and me all the time."

"Did I now?" he muttered, his voice suddenly distant, his smile disappearing. He downed his remaining wine, held his cup out to a servant, who refilled it. He drained it again, without taking a breath, set the empty cup aside and began to work on a portion of chicken. Kitty watched him, wanting to say something, but balked by Nikolai's reaction. She pursed her lips and continued to eat.

To Kitty's surprise the silence between herself and Nikolai was relaxed, the tension created by her comment quickly dissipating. She counted that lucky; the last thing she needed was to self-sabotage her progress. She wondered what had caused Nikolai to react defensively – her mentioning Illyana, or did he simply not want to talk? She decided it was the former. After their conversation in the hallway she knew he was curious, that he was beginning to believe her, or at least concede what she had told him was possible. Perhaps it was not so much Illyana than that he simply was not ready to discuss it yet. That seemed probable to Kitty. _Maybe he doesn't like to have serious conversations while eating_. The thought struck her as amusing. She concealed her smile by taking a sip of water, then let out an inaudible sigh. She decided to wait for Nikolai to take the initiative and broach the matter himself. Hopefully he would do so tonight – instinct warned her that time was not her ally. Kitty sighed again, that thought dulling her appetite. She toyed with her salad as she watched Nikolai eat with cultured serenity, her eyes drawn to the striking curved tattoos bracketing his face. Nikolai noticed her attention and gave her a curious look. Kitty glanced away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't stare like that."

Nikolai smiled. "Do not be. I do not mind you staring at me."

Kitty looked up and returned his smile. "Do you usually flirt with your hostages?"

"Only with the pretty ones." They both laughed. Nikolai ran his left thumb along the contours of a tattoo. "You were staring at these, yes?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to get use to them. It's not that they're ugly or anything, but it's just... strange for me, seeing your face tattooed."

Nikolai shrugged. "I do not even realize that I have them, most times. This arabesque," he gestured at his face and chest, "I have worn it all my life."

"No, you haven't," Kitty murmured softly. Nikolai did not hear her, or perhaps chose not to.

"They are symbols of my rank and my mastery," he continued. "And help contain the sorceries that fuel my might."

"They also glow and catch on fire when you get angry," Kitty added wryly.

"That, too," Nikolai agreed. "They vent my rage, keep it from burning too hot."

Kitty's expression became serious. "Does it hurt?"

"No. I do not feel a thing." Nikolai frowned, looked down at his plate and speared a piece of chicken with his fork. "Once, there was much that I did not feel. But now..." He shook his head and ate the chicken. After he swallowed it he drank some more wine. "My turn for questions, Katya. Why are you not afraid?"

Kitty laughed. "Where did you get that impression? I'm absolutely terrified. Who wouldn't be, being held prisoner and guarded by ghosts and demons?"

"Your laughter belies your words, I think, but let me amend my question. I am no empath, but I am familiar with fear. It is a useful weapon, and my father taught me how to wield it with proficiency. Right now, you have none. Yet earlier today, when Vultariax confronted you, I sensed it. You contained it masterfully, but it was there, nonetheless. For some reason you are not afraid of me, even though it would be wise of you. Why is that?"

Kitty did not answer immediately. She stared into his deep-gold eyes, watched how the firelight made the jet-black ink on his face glimmer, took in his puzzled, serious expression, felt how completely his attention was focused on her. She felt warm, a great heat arising in her, golden, invigorating, euphoric. She drank some ice water, then took a deep breath to center herself.

"I'm not afraid when I'm with you because I _know_ you would never hurt me."

"Such faith is touching, but misplaced," Nikolai murmured sardonically.

"It isn't misplaced because it isn't faith. I know it for fact. If you wanted to hurt me, kill me, you could have done so long before this. You've had ample opportunity. Back in San Francisco, for example – you had me beat. There was no way I could have avoided your strike, but at the last moment you checked your sword. Then, just a day ago, I guess, during your escape from the Institute, when something struck me from behind..." Kitty trailed off, and looked at Nikolai questioningly.

"It was my father's servant, Misery," he answered. "Let us forget him – he is not a pleasant subject of conversation."

Kitty shivered and nodded emphatically in agreement. "Anyway, the point is I was again helpless. You could have snapped my neck when I was out. But you didn't. Instead I'm here. True, I'm a prisoner, but you're treating me with kid gloves, like I'm the cream of Russian nobility. You've defended me against your own followers. Further proof that you don't wish to see me harmed."

"Perhaps I have other purposes in mind for you," suggested Nikolai.

Kitty's eyes narrowed. She smiled coolly and gestured at an ewer of wine. A _rusalki _poured her a glass. She sampled it, savoring its sharp, sweet taste. "Are you trying to make me think what Vultariax said is true, that I'm a war prize?" Nikolai did not answer. "Don't bother, I'd never believe it. You're not cruel enough, Piotr. You wouldn't take me by force - there's too much mercy in you." Nikolai let out a bark of laughter. "I'm serious. If your treatment of me here isn't proof enough, there's evidence in how you've conducted yourself on your raids. No one was hurt when you took over the Met in New York. Your skeletons didn't manhandle the prisoners they took and just chased everyone else out. The same thing happened in San Francisco. Yes, there were casualties, but surprisingly few, all things considered. It's obvious you've been telling your followers to hold back, even when it would be easier not. Then there's the fact you spared Hisako back at the mansion."

"Hisako?"

"The girl who ran into you when you escaped your cell. She's a new student – we've only just started training her. I know first hand what you can do; you could have killed her easily, to keep her from raising an alarm. But you didn't. You let her go."

"An arrogant mistake is not the same as mercy," Nikolai muttered. Kitty just smiled.

"You're not convincing me. I've encountered arrogance enough to know it when I see it. You're proud, confident in your abilities, but that's a far cry from being arrogant."

Nikolai pursed his lips, turned his face away from Kitty, then looked back at her with a smile. He chuckled and drank his wine. "Evidently I am more transparent than I thought, Katya. I have no wish to harm you. I will not harm you – at least not until I answer the questions you raise within me to my satisfaction. Even then... I have little taste for blood. Does that mean I am merciful, or merely a coward? It is something to ponder."

"You're no coward. There are times when it takes more bravery to spare life than to take it."

"Perhaps. But brave man or coward, I think I will have to spill much blood in time, before my father's dreams are achieved."

"And what is Koschei trying to accomplish? What's so important about that staff, and that icon you stole? You told Scott they were seeds..."

"So they are. Seeds that will help bring to flower a most glorious future."

"Which is?"

"The creation of Third Rome, the fore-ordained Russian empire, with my father as Tsar and myself as his warlord and heir."

Kitty's eyebrows lifted. "You mean he wants to conquer the world?" Nikolai shrugged and nodded. Kitty laughed. "My God, how utterly mundane! You'd think a sorcerer would have something more... esoteric in mind."

Nikolai smiled. "Just because a goal is mundane, Katya, does not mean it is not worth striving for."

"I guess." Kitty gave Nikolai a long look. "Do you share Koschei's ambition?" Nikolai started, surprised by the question.

"...I..." Nikolai's expression became oddly tense, almost strained. "Of course I do. My father's will is my will. In purpose we are one." Suddenly he grimaced and drank more wine. Kitty frowned thoughtfully, and decided not to press the matter.

"So what do you need that staff and the icon for?"

"They are parts of a key Father created a century ago. The Patriarch's Crosier, and what was hidden in that icon, the Ring of Tsars. All that remains is the Eye of Volos."

"Volos?"

"The god of the dead. We shall have it soon, and then the key will be complete."

"And what does this key open?"

"Great danger, but Father has no fear of it. He will swallow his doom, and place himself beyond all woe."

"How cryptic. What's your role in this, besides being his heir?"

Nikolai smiled grimly. "I am the only one who can deliver Father's doom safely to his hands. That is my purpose, Katya – to be the fist that strikes down what he can not touch."

"And how will you accomplish that?"

Nikolai smiled again, this time with more warmth. He shook his head. "That remains my secret, for now. I have told you enough."

Kitty smiled back. " 'Dogs should only be fed once a day'?"

"You are no dog, Katya. You are like your namesake – a cat. Sleek and beautiful and far too impetuous for your own good."

"That's something of a failing in me," she admitted in good-humored placidity.

When they finished with their dinner the _rusalki_ cleared off their dishes and utensils. Nikolai snapped the tablecloth and the platters and remnants of food vanished, replaced with desert: finely shredded ice heavily flavored with sugar and blueberry juice, topped with sweet cream and sliced strawberries, served in golden bowls with long silver spoons. There was more wine, and the _rusalki _brought hot chocolate to drink with it. Kitty ate her serving with enjoyment, but Nikolai seemed content with sipping chocolate and watching her thoughtfully. When she finished Nikolai sighed and put aside his chocolate, purpose etching itself on his countenance.

"Earlier you said that you held no mysteries, Katya," he began. "Only the truth. Yet this truth seems mysterious to me, a conundrum I cannot unravel. Perhaps you can help me solve it."

"Gladly. I want to help you, Peter."

Nikolai winced, sighed, his expression becoming contemplative as he tried to determine how to express himself. "I have... visions," he began slowly. "They come to me regularly, sometimes at inopportune moments, but mostly while I meditate. They play quite clearly in my mind. They feel like memories, but..." he sighed again and shook his head. Kitty waited, patient and alert. "You are in almost all of them, Katya, but there is another person, just as prominent. A girl with hair like spun, pale gold. Sometimes she is with you, other times she is alone." Nikolai frowned, traced the line of his chin with his thumb. "There is something strange about her, as well as familiar. At times she appears as a child, not more than a handful of winters old, but others she is a young maiden. In some visions, when she is with you, she is the child, and in some she is the maiden, yet your age remains consistent. I have not seen you as a child. I cannot understand it. The visions have their own logic, but she defies it." He looked intently at Kitty. "Do you know this girl-maiden, Katya?"

Kitty took a deep breath, then finished her wine, drinking it to the dregs. She gazed wistfully into her empty cup, but decided against having more. She looked up at Nikolai. "I mentioned her earlier tonight. She's Illyana."

"Illyana," echoed Nikolai. "A Russian name. The feminine of Ilya... Elijah... who is she?"

"Your sister, Piotr."

"Sister? No... I have no siblings. I am Koschei's sole progeny. But..." Nikolai stared down at the table, his brows furrowed; before him his large hands clenched into fists. "Yet... that explains what I feel, when she dances in my thoughts – a connection, a bond, similar to what I feel towards you, yet different. A sense of... kinship... calling to me." He slapped his hands on the table and rose from his chair. "Where is she, Katya?" he demanded urgently. "I must see her."

Kitty flinched, turned her face away. "I'm sorry, Piotr. That isn't possible."

"Why – "Nikolai checked himself, realization dawning. "She's gone. Like those two you claim are my parents." Kitty just nodded, her eyes closed, her face taut. Nikolai shut his own eyes and bowed his head. Within his breast the emptiness yawned open anew and howled. Suddenly something exploded in his head and he cried out in pain, dropping to one knee. A new vision assailed him violently. He saw Illyana as a child, lying in bed, sick with something like a cold, but far more insidious. In a span of seconds he watched her grow weaker, the fires of her life flickering lower and lower. Grief, impotence and fear twisted and writhed through him as he looked on, then came another flash, another blast of pain. He was striding into a chamber, like the one Katya and her friends had imprisoned him in. He ached from the rigors of battle, and his blood was running hot. He desperately wanted to see Illyana. Then Kitty appeared before him, crying. _I'm sorry, Peter. She's gone._

Nikolai turned away, saying nothing, feeling nothing, an interstellar cold numbing him as he took the first step down an irrevocable path of woe. Darkness fell over everything as the vision seeped away, leaving him empty and ill. He heard someone speaking in a frightened voice. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Kitty hovering over him. "Are you all right?" she asked, reaching out to him. Nikolai waved her off wearily.

"Yes. No. I don't know." He covered his face with one hand and forced himself to rise. "A vision came. Felt as if Perun's Axe had struck me in the head."

"What was it?"

"It... it..." He dropped his hand, looked at Kitty warily, then bowed his head. "I can not recall," he lied. "It slips away from my memory, like sand through fingers."

Kitty said nothing. She looked at him with sad, searching eyes. Nikolai licked his lips, straightened up and sighed. "I think it would be best if I leave now." He placed his hand over his heart and bowed. "Thank you very much for the pleasure of your company, Katya. I hope you enjoyed mine, and that you can forgive me for my... boorishness... just now."

"I did, and there's nothing that needs forgiving." She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand, her thumb tracing a line of his tattoos. Nikolai froze, then placed his hand over hers and pressed it against him. He gently lowered it, bowed to Kitty again, and turned to go. At the door and looked over his shoulder at her. "You have given me much to think about."

"Good. Sweet dreams, Piotr Nikoleivitch."

Nikolai smiled at her, faintly but with affection. "Sleep well, Katerina Anna."

* * *

Koschei the Deathless made a curt gesture and released his concentration, allowing the images playing out on his mirror to mist over and fade away. He threw himself back in his chair of bone, screwing shut his agate-hard eyes, his yellowing fangs grinding together. _I am losing my son, and there is _nothing _I can do to prevent it_. He shivered with fear and tugged his rotting silk caftan tighter around his withered body. What a strutting, preening fool he had been, so sure of his control over his greatest creation. But what he had thought iron had proven to be the weakest of clay, crumbling with alarming speed, along with a century of dreams and labor. Soon Nikolai would remember who he truly was, and all of Koschei's machinations would come to naught.

Koschei beat his fist against the arm of his chair. "Damn you, boy," he hissed. "If I had foreseen this, I would have cut out your heart of flesh, while you slept in your crystal coffin, and replaced it with a heart of stone." He should have anticipated this – he knew from the onset of the powerful bonds between the youngest Rasputin children and Katherine Pryde – bonds so strong that not even death could weaken them. Yet never had he concerned himself with the possibility of his son's former friends interfering in his affairs. Other heroes of the mortal realms, yes – Avengers, Thunderbolts, Russia's own Super-Soldiers, perhaps even the band of malcontents led by that fop who had the audacity to call himself Sorcerer Supreme – but not the X-Men. They had always been so insular in the past, concerning themselves with only mutant problems. Damn whatever imp of perverse that had caused them to broaden their interests.

_I must remove Pryde's influence over my son,_ thought Koschei. _I refuse to be thwarted by some under-grown chit. Yet I cannot kill her arbitrarily. _The sorcerer scowled, remembering his shock when the portal of fire tore open and Nikolai strode out with Pryde cradled protectively in his arms. He had panicked – he, Koschei, mightiest black sorcerer of a country renowned for sorcery, disconcerted by a mere girl. It galled him, shamed him, but the truth of it could not be denied. The sight of Pryde in his hall, of how Nikolai was looking at her, drove him into an irrational, impulsive mistake – he ordered his son to kill her. Koschei shuddered; he had come within a hair's breadth of losing Nikolai forever with that rash demand. He could still remember the _zmei_ roar Nikolai had answered with. It had shaken the throne room to its foundations. Koschei had to call upon every ounce of his guile to placate his wrathful son. Even so, Nikolai's loyalty was now tenuous at best, and Pryde's continued presence further eroded it, filling his head with dangerous questions and speculations. The memory blocks Koschei had inserted in Nikolai's mind would not last much longer. He could not simply slay Pryde outright, without reason. Nikolai's interest in her was too strong. He would not accept such an act, even from his father and liege, and Koschei possessed no magic capable of suppressing his son's inevitable wrath. The sorcerer needed a reason – even if it were a mere fig leaf of one - to justify his actions, in order to give him purchase within Nikolai's will, to sow a seed of doubt in his mind. Thus why he tried to provoke the girl into a frenzy when he met with her. A childish ploy, unworthy of his talents and intellect, and a further sign of the desperation he felt, he resorting to such a wretched measure.

Koschei rose from his chair and began to pace his chamber. "I will _not _be thwarted," he hissed. "I am master of my wyrd, no other! I _will _cut the threads the _Rozhanisty _wove between my son and Katerina Pryde, even if Perun and all of the old, forgotten gods stand to oppose me!" He halted with a shudder and ceased ranting. He was too tense, his stress muddling his mind. He needed to relax. Suitable distraction awaited him in his chambers – three _rusalki _concubines, lolling in his bed. He wondered if that would be enough; frustration had stoked his lust to a fine heat. He shrugged indifferently. He could tell his major-domo to summon others if more were required. He loosened his caftan and started towards his bedroom. He took a step, then suddenly stopped, a dark inspiration manifesting in his black mind. His eyes began to smolder, and his thin lips peeled back in a hideous grin.

"Remember the parable of the oak and the willow," he murmured. "It is easier to bend with the wind than fight against it... It is too costly to cut the _Rozhanisty's_ threads; maybe it would be easier to _reweave_ them." Koschei began to laugh, a terrible sound. "My son desires Katerina Anna Pryde. Very well, he shall have her – in a fashion that I deem fitting." Laughing with black joy, Koschei the Deathless strode eagerly to his bedchambers.

* * *

Hank McCoy gritted his teeth, shook his head carefully. Someone was yelling. Or, at least, he thought it was yelling. Right now it sounded like the resonant buzz of an angry swarm of wasps. He shifted and flinched violently – someone had implanted ground glass in all of his joints. The bastard. Better to just lie here a moment. Yeah, that was the ticket.

He floated out of thought for an interminable moment, then returned to reality, the glass gone from his body, the yelling now distinctly human. Emma and Logan, going at it hammer and tongs. Sometimes he could hear Scott trying to interject and be ignored. An impressive feat, considering fifteen years of leadership experience had taught Scott how to project his voice quite effectively. Hank tried to sit up, groaned, and opened his eyes. His vision wavered for a moment before clearing. He discovered he was on a bed in the infirmary. Scott was standing next to him, a look of relief on his old friend's face. Emma and Logan near the foot of the bed. Emma's expression was cold and contained, her cheeks slightly flushed, while Logan looked, to put it bluntly, simply pissed.

"How are you feeling, Hank?" Scott asked, clapping his hand on Hank's shoulder.

"Okay, all things considering." Hank rubbed at the corners of his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I'm getting tired of all these headaches, though. What the hell hit me?"

"A spook," growled Logan. Hank looked at him questioningly. "A scrawny looking runt that I plan on killin' as soon as flamin' possible."

"I took the precaution of scanning your mind, Henry," said Emma. "There were signs that you were possessed. Your attacker was brutal, with all the finesse of a sledgehammer, but I detected no permanent damage."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Hank muttered. He grimaced violently. "I'm starting to remember now. Something had roused my suspicions. I was running a security check of the Institute when I saw something reflected in my monitor. A second later I got slammed with something that made me think I got hit by Nefaira or Ultron. I couldn't move. Then _he_ started to show me things..."

"What things?" asked Emma.

"...Things I don't want to talk about. Over it all, he kept whispering his name. Or, at least, I _think_ it was his name. Misery."

"I'll teach 'im something about misery, when I get a hold of him," said Logan.

"Oh sheathe it," snapped Emma. "You're nowhere near as impressive as you think you are."

"Impressin' you has never been high on my ta do list, Frost."

"Fun, fun, fun," Hank grumbled. "Don't you two know better than to argue in a hospital zone? Hearing all that noise is a strain on poor shlubs like me trying to recuperate." He looked at Scott. "I take it Peter escaped?"

"Yes," Scott answered shortly.

"And he took Kitty with him," added Logan.

Hank clicked his tongue. "Damn... How did it happen?"

"Hisako had told us Pete was runnin' loose. The kid and I caught 'im in the vaults. He had just grabbed that damn staff – "

"The Patriarch's Crosier."

"Whatever it is. Excuse me if I don't give a fuck right now. I was about ta lay inta Petey when I heard Kitty scream. Sounded like she was being torn ta pieces. I turned around and saw the spook. He had knocked her out, somehow. Threatened to tear out her throat. Peter told me surrender, sayin' he wouldn't let her get hurt." Logan snarled in frustration and slammed his fist into his palm. "Had no choice. Caught between the two of 'em, the spook with his filthy claws on Kitty's throat, I wouldn't have gotten to her in time to save her. Even so, I probably would have tried, if it weren't fer the look on Petey's face. Looked like he wanted to lay inta Misery too, after hearing him say what he'd do to Kitty. So I took my chances and surrendered. Peter made me one with the floor."

"I warned all of you something like this would happen," said Emma. "At least none of the students were injured."

"I'm getting _real _tired of you harpin' on this, Frost. If you don't – "

"Logan, Emma, _enough!_" snapped Scott. "Arguing like this isn't going to solve anything. We all took the risk on this, and we dropped the ball. We were so concerned with Peter's henchmen attempting an open assault that we didn't take into consideration that they were capable of an infiltration. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I should have been prepared for it."

"None of us saw it coming," Hank pointed out. "That bunch seemed about as subtle as the Marauders on a cocaine binge."

"You prepare for what the enemy can do, not what he might do."

Hank grinned. "Clausewitz."

Scott nodded. "Anyone can attempt stealth, even if they're not prone to. Obviously, Koschei had followers capable of stealth, but now it's all academic."

"Koschei?"

"Our candidate for resurrecting Peter," said Emma. "The trip to San Francisco bore fruit. Scott and I will fill you in later."

"Our priority now is to find where Peter teleported to and rescue Kitty," said Scott.

Hank grunted and swung his legs off the bed. "If someone would be kind enough to get me a glass of water, I'll be more than happy to provide the solution to the first half of our new problem."

Scott, Emma and Logan gawked at him. "You know where they went?" demanded Logan.

"Nope." He stood up, stretched and winced. "Not yet, but I can find out."

"You planted a homing device on Peter," said Emma.

"Yup. In his right side, while he was unconscious. It's about the size of a pea, and has a global range. God bless high tech. Still, you shouldn't peek into thoughts without permission, Emma."

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?" asked Scott. Hank just shrugged.

"Between all of us teaching classes, me monitoring Peter and doing research on the Crosier, you meeting with Storm, Rogue and Nightcrawler, then shooting off to San Francisco with Emma, Kitty running her therapy sessions with Peter and Logan off doing whatever he does, I didn't exactly have the opportunity to do so. And also," his lips curled in an abashed smile, "I got complacent too. I didn't think Peter would get loose without a big commotion." Hank sighed, ran his paws over his head, flattening his ears. "Come on. Let's go start repairing our mistakes."

In the War Room Hank sat behind the big console and started typing in commands. With a soft hum a holographic projection of the Earth materialized and slowly began to rotate as Hank implemented the homing program. It spun faster as a signal was detected and coordinates were triangulated. The computer beeped and the projection froze, a rectangular cursor highlighting and magnifying Peter's estimated position.

"Son of a bitch," swore Logan.

"Well, this _is _a surprise," murmured Hank as he removed his spectacles. "Though, now that I think of it, not entirely unexpected." The cursor hovered over Siberia, centered on the northern shores of Lake Baikal. "The readings indicate Peter is a significant distance underground."

"That's where we'll find it," said Scott. "The stronghold of Koschei the Deathless." He took a breath, steeling himself for the battle ahead. "Suit up, people. Time to cause some damage."

* * *

The folk-tale _Prince Ivan and Princess Martha_ is from _Russian Fairy Tales_, a massive collection of Russian _skazki_ put together by Aleksandr Afanas'ev. It only runs for about eighteen dollars, and is well worth the price if you're interested in Russian folklore.

The dishes Kitty and Nikolai ate at dinner, save for the desert, come from ). I haven't tried any of them myself, so I can't vouch for how they taste. They sound good, though. I find the mushroom casserole to be particularly tempting.

This chapter was fairly tough to write. The center of it was the dinner conversation between Kitty and Nikolai-Piotr. It took a while to get it to flow the way I wanted it to. In comparison everything else was fairly easy.

CCS – Thank you for the kind words about my story. I'm trying my best to make it as good as possible. Even though Colossus is back in Astonishing (yeah Whedon! You've made up for boring me with FireFly) I plan on finishing this story, and maybe even going beyond. Wait and see.

DarkStorm 5000 – Yeah, I liked that line, too. Glad you like what's going on. Danila is fairly perceptive, and I hope you liked the glimpse into the young Wolf's son's feelings towards Kitty (though if anyone dares suggest that he and Nikolai are in a slash relationship, I will brain them with Perun's Axe myself).

Lia Fail – as always, my dear, you flatter me shamelessly. I'm glad you enjoy my stories so much. I only consider fair trade, since I enjoy your romances a great deal myself.

I'm glad you like how Nikolai, Koschei and their followers speak. I like writing that cultured, high-fantasy sort of dialogue, ala Tolkien, Howard and Jack Vance, and it is quite appropriate for them. Beings from the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom are not going to be speaking the latest street slang!

Lots of Kitty/Nikolai this chapter – let me know what you think of it. As we've seen, Kitty has been _quite_ successful in drawing out Nikolai's humanity, much to Danila's fear and Koschei's disconcertion. As for Kitty in the Hall, even with her powers nullified, I can't see her giving scum like Vultariax or Solovey the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, or letting Danila boss her around. I'm sure you agree with that sentiment.

I think Vultariax was sensing Kitty's ties to Illyana's legacy and the Soul Sword, though the idea about sensing the unhappiness Misery forced her to re-live is a good one. Wish I had thought of that. We now know why Koschei is tolerating Kitty's presence – because he has to, if he wants to keep Nikolai on the leash. Though now our undead sorcerer seems to think he has discovered a way to circumvent this dilemma.

Hope you liked this chapter. I'll talk to you soon.

Kitty Rasputin – I'm glad the last chapter gave you a needed lift. Sorry this one took so long, but I hope you found it worth the wait.

B – Well, this chapter is not so short, but in retrospect I'm glad I split The Gilded Cage up the way I did. It really would have been unwieldy if I hadn't, and I would have ended up posting nothing (save for _Jealous_, over at Lia's account) for something like three months. I don't know if I'll have similar problems with the next chapters – I'll find out when I get to them.

You are spot on about Danila. He will be playing a _very _important role in the next chapter. I liked _Exchange Students_ very much, and I'm sorry it didn't get more comments. I grow less and less impressed with the Evo community here at FFNet, and not because of the paucity of Kiotr stories. I thought your Lockheed story was very fun and very cute, as you well know.

That's all for now. What I have planned for next is a secret. It is _Deathless_ related, though, and I hope you all find it to be a treat.

Thank you all for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	12. Chapter 10 Treachery Part 1

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics, and are used without permission.

Chapter 10 Treachery Part 1

"It took great effort," whispered Koschei the Deathless. "Dobrynski wove powerful charms of obfuscation, and I think the hand of the Old One himself contested against me. But in the end, my craft prevailed. Behold, my darling son – the resting place of the Eye of Volos."

Nikolai the Deathless peered closely at the ornately jeweled globe floating above the cupped, claw-fingered hands of a black marble gargoyle imp. "Kyoto, Japan," he murmured, his voice purring like a drowsy tiger's. "Unexpected."

"Yes," agreed Koschei. "I knew Dobrynski would not dare leave the pieces of the key within the boundaries of Mother Russia, fearing that their presence would hasten my awakening. But I did not suspect that one of the segments would find its way into Oriental lands, especially so soon after that fool of a Romanov lost a war to those monkeys."

"It is somewhere within – or near – the grounds of the Imperial Palace." Nikolai rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "The Japanese once considered their royal family divinity. Perhaps that is another factor in why it took you so long to locate the Eye."

"Perhaps," agreed Koschei. "Foreign gods do not take kindly to strangers spying on their domains – but no matter. I want you to go in force to Kyoto within the hour. Sweep aside any who oppose you, and bring back the Eye. Make haste - this waiting grows tedious."

"As you command, Father. I foresee no difficulties – there are fewer heroes in Japan than in the Americas. With the _druzhina _and a hundred _zalozhiny_, I will have it in short order. I shall take Solovey, Vultariax and Myedvyed Tsar."

"No, not Solovey. Take Volkevich instead." Nikolai looked curiously at his father, his golden eyes widening a trifle.

"May I ask why?"

"I have a task that requires Solovey's particular attention," answered Koschei with studied carelessness. "It is but a trifle, my son. You have far more important matters to concentrate on."

Nikolai nodded thoughtfully. "As you say, Father. I will find a way to get along without Solovey, or Danila. He is still sleeping off his hunt from last night. I will not risk my younger brother when his wits are addled by fatigue. I will take Misery. His particular talents may prove more useful than brute force."

"As you like it. I leave the decision in your capable hands, Nikolai," said Koschei. Nikolai placed his hand over his heart, bowed, and left the Great Hall. Koschei watched his son depart, his agate eyes glittering with a sinister, anticipatory light.

Nikolai walked through the winding, shadow-arched hallways, his thought milling through dark speculations. He arrived at the door to his chambers and hesitated a moment before entering, staring in the direction towards Kitty's suite. He had not spoken with her today, and very much desired to do so. He enjoyed her company immensely, despite the strange feelings she stirred; her presence soothed him in a way that even Danila could not. Should he take that as more proof of what she told him is true? Nikolai sighed. He had no time for this – duty takes precedent over pleasure. Once he returned with the Eye of Volos, he would spend the rest of the day with Kitty. He was on the verge of a revelation – he could feel it in his bones. Kitty would show him the way.

Within his chambers Nikolai found Danila asleep, his rangy body sprawled across his bed, on top of the blankets, stripped down to his loincloth, his breeches and furs massed in a heap to one side. Nikolai's battle panoply had been set out, arrayed upon an armor stand next to his divan. He examined it quietly, fingering the silk of the greatcoat, running a fingertip over the contours of the golden mask. He inhaled sharply through his nose, an inexplicable feeling of weariness passing over him. Not even a week ago, he would have been eager to prepare, impatient to set out and do his father's bidding. But now… He scowled violently, annoyed with this maudlin temper. Burying it beneath his will, he snapped his fingers, summoning Baldek. The ghostly manservant materialized next to him with, bowing his obedience. Nikolai swiftly undressed, removing his dark blue poet's blouse, trousers and shoes, Baldek silently taking the clothing away. Nikolai donned first the loose, black trousers, golden serpents coiling up the legs, white undershirt and under-belt. He pulled on his boots, tucking the pant cuffs into them and buckling them firmly. He allowed Baldek to help him into his blue and gold greatcoat, but waved the ghost off when he tried to pull its hood over his mane of black hair. Nikolai girded his sword-belt, making sure his broadsword and poniard were hitched securely, then pulled on and laced up his leather gauntlets. He took the golden mask and looked at it. Its close-lipped smile seemed mocking. Nikolai bared his teeth, his eyes reflecting his distaste. He raised his arm to throw it into the fireplace, but checked himself, again scowling. He needed to compose himself, remove himself from his feelings, or else he would not be able to function. There would be time to explore these emotions later. Right now, he could not afford to let Vultariax or Misery to take advantage of a lapse in judgment or a moment of indecision – he would regret such, though he was not precisely sure why. Sighing, he took his steel skullcap in his free hand, then turned to take care of one final, but important, matter of business. He walked over to Danila's bed and kicked its leg, making it shiver violently. Danila awoke with a start, blinking his golden eyes owlishly. "Rouse your bones, Little Brother," said Nikolai. "I have a task for you."

Danila's eyes cleared. He sat up and grinned wolfishly. "The Master has found the Eye? We are going for it now?"

"Yes. But _I _am venturing out to fetch it. _You _are staying here. I want you to guard Lady Katerina while I am gone."

Danila frowned. "Am I being punished for something, Elder Brother? I returned to the Hall well before sunrise."

"I know. I heard you enter the bedroom while I was taking my bath. You are not being punished."

"Then why must I stay and play watchdog?" he growled. "The lady does not like me, and I do not trust her."

"You stay and watch because I command it. That is all you need to know," Nikolai snapped. Danila flinched and bared his throat, but his eyes were sullen, resentful. Nikolai sighed and closed his eyes. "Katerina is important to me, Little Brother. She holds truths, secrets, which I need to know if I am to put my spirit at ease. I cannot afford to lose her. I think… I think Father is planning to do her harm."

Danila paled, his eyes growing large. Open strife between his Elder Brother and the Master would be disastrous. "Would the Master dare?"

"I do not know. Ordinarily I would say no – I owe Father fealty, but as his warlord and heir I have inalienable rights he cannot revoke. Katerina is my guest, sheltered under my aegis – to hurt her would be a breach of hospitality, and dishonor me. However, I am under no illusion of how far Father will go to achieve an end." Nikolai smiled sardonically. "He dislikes Katerina's presence even more than you do, Little Brother."

Danila nodded, remembering Koschei's reaction to seeing Kitty cradled in Nikolai's arms, and the violent quarrel his command of execution had precipitated. He licked his lips and shifted nervously, a soft whine humming in his throat. "But what can I do if the Master comes for the lady?"

"Nothing. That is not your purpose. Before I leave I will lay a ward on Katerina's chambers. If Father steps foot in them, I will be alerted and will return at once. Your task will be to keep her in her rooms, and guard her from anyone trying to get her out of them, either by force or enticement. Be very careful, Danila. Father is keeping Solovey here in the Hall, for a task that requires his _particular_ attention."

Danila sneered. "I neither love nor fear that bandit-troubadour, Elder Brother. Thrashing him would be a great pleasure."

"Your bravery is commendable, but do not underestimate him. In Times before Time, he fought Ilya Muromets to standstills. Solovey Razboynik is not to be despised." Nikolai grimaced and spat. "Maybe I fret over nothing, but better to prepare for ill than do nothing and hope for good. I cannot tarry any longer. I must prepare the _zalozhiny_." He sniffed the air, then donned his mask, pulled up his hood and placed his skullcap. "Go take a bath – I doubt Katya will appreciate the smell of deer blood and dried sweat. Be quick."

* * *

Kitty Pryde paced restlessly about her sitting room, feeling stifled and short of temper. Her spacious suite now seemed constricting, and a growing tedium was wearing on her nerves. She wanted to see Peter again, and had gone so far as to ask one of her _rusalki_ maidservants to call for him. The ghost informed her in a soft whisper that the _knyaz_ was in conference with the Master, and was not to be disturbed. That did little to soothe Kitty's peace of mind, nor did the sounds she heard outside her door ease her any either – the steady, rhythmic tramp of booted feet. She had taken a peek out, and spied _zalozhiny _marching down the hall, muskets in hand, swords and axes girded at their bony hips.

Kitty stopped in front of the lit fireplace, wrapping her arms around herself, tugging tighter the stole of white fox fur covering her bare shoulders. She was clad in somber elegance, wearing a shoulderless, short-sleeved gown of navy blue silk trimmed in black, its décolleté a bit more revealing than she was comfortable with, but, like every other piece of clothing given to her here, flattered and accentuated her body perfectly. She wore black silk slippers trimmed with small, deep-blue sapphires, and slender silver chains encircled her ankles, chiming dulcetly when she moved. To her dismay, despite the fact she was nominally his prisoner, she was growing to enjoy the way Peter was pampering her, with fine food, comfortable chambers, beautiful clothes and dutiful servants. She frowned thoughtfully as she stared into the fire, watching it dance, listening to the logs hiss, pop, and settle. Again she wondered if Peter was trying to trap her in some subtle way, dazzling her into submission with beauty and wealth. She shook her head slightly, deciding if there were traps, they were unintentional on Peter's part. Still, she needed to be wary. She glanced solemnly at the door. _I wonder what Peter is talking to Koschei about - Me, perhaps? Or did Koschei locate that thing Peter mentioned last night – the Eye of Volos._ Kitty sighed. _I wonder how Logan, Scott and the others are, if they have any idea on how to find me. I wouldn't mind knowing where Koschei's Hall is exactly, either. But I don't know if I want the X-Men to find me just yet. I'm so close to having something happen with Peter. I can feel it. _Kitty shook her head. _I wish he were here. _

Someone knocked on the sitting room's door. Kitty jumped, startled. A _rusalki _materialized and made to answer, but Kitty waved the ghost off. She approached the door cautiously. "Who's there?"

"Danila Volkevich, my lady. I come bearing a message from my Elder Brother." Kitty frowned and hesitated. She heard the young werewolf growl impatiently, then nodded to herself and opened the door. He stalked in from the hallway ungraciously, not looking at Kitty, nearly knocking her aside. He strode to the fireplace and dropped down before it Indian style, hands resting splayed on his knees. Kitty scowled at him. "Well, by all means, enter, why doncha? I'm more than happy having a mangy hound barge right on in." Danila ignored her, looked at the _rusalki _and barked, "Food. I wish to break my fast." The ghost curtsied, hurriedly vanished and reappeared with a platter of sliced beef, cheese, bread and a small pot of horseradish, along with a tankard of milk.

Kitty shut the door, walked over and ensconced herself in a plush armchair, watching sourly as Danila constructed a sloppy sandwich. "What does Peter have to say?"

Danila frowned and bolted down his sandwich with large, snapping bites, washing it down with the entire tankard of milk. He coughed into the sleeve of the white linen shirt he wore under his pelt of black wolf fur. He started to make another sandwich as a _rusalki _refilled his tankard. "Elder Brother extends his regrets for not visiting you, today," Danila said. "He is occupied by matters that require his direct attention."

"He found the Eye of Volos?"

Danila looked at Kitty sharply. "He told you of that?" At Kitty's nod his frown deepened. "_Tcha! _… Yes, the Master discovered its location a few hours ago. Elder Brother is leaving soon to fetch it, and will call upon you once he returns. In the interim, he has dispatched me to keep you company and see to your comfort."

"Hmmph," sniffed Kitty. Danila growled.

"Believe me, I find but scant pleasure in your company as well, _knyazhna_."

Kitty did not answer. She settled back in her armchair and watched in morbid fascination as Danila made and devoured a number of sandwiches and several tankards of milk. Finally he finished and pushed away the tray with a satisfied sigh. Kitty shook her head. _For such a svelte guy he sure packs it away. I bet he'd give Lockheed a run for his money in an eating contest. _"So, Danila – did you tell Peter that you think I am a threat?"

Danila glowered at her as he sipped some milk. He set his tankard down and stared into the fire. "Yes. I said you were a dangerous _ved'ma_, and it would be wise of him not to see you."

"What did he say to that?"

"None of your concern."

"You know, I can just ask him when he gets back, and he'll tell me."

"Do not be so cocksure of your self, lest you fall too hard," snapped Danila. "He is fascinated with you, but I do not lack influence."

Kitty frowned. She steepled her fingers against her mouth for a moment in thought, then stared up at the ceiling. "You have me wrong, Danila. I'm not cocksure. Not in any way. The only thing I'm certain of is that I'm important to Peter." She felt very tired all of a sudden. Danila looked at her suspiciously, then stared back into the fire, drinking the rest of his milk. Kitty sighed and looked at him. "You care for him very much."

"That is none of your concern, either."

"True. I'm just making an observation."

Danila said nothing, just gazing into the fireplace, as if hypnotized by the flames dancing across the split logs and whitening ash. A _rusalki_ materialized and set a cup of chocolate on the table next to Kitty's chair. Kitty murmured thanks and sipped the chocolate delicately in patient silence. Danila let out a gusty breath, stood up and paced before the fire. After a moment he sighed again and faced Kitty, his expression serious.

"Prince Nikolai is the first person to treat me well in a long time," he said. "I do not call him Elder Brother lightly. He… woke me… took me into his coterie, taught me many things. He did not need to do this, yet he did. He treats me with affection, tells me things he speaks to no one else about, not even the Master. He calls me 'Little Brother', and means it… Yes, my lady Katerina, I care for him very much." He bared his teeth and hissed. "I care for him enough that I would let you take him from here, if I thought it best for him, even though I do not want you to."

Kitty became very still, every ounce of her awareness focusing on the tense young man before her. His head was bowed, his large golden eyes glared at her through his thick, shaggy bangs. Kitty swallowed, put aside her chocolate. "Do you now believe that I don't mean him any harm?" she murmured softly.

"I… am not completely certain." Danila turned towards the fireplace, hawked and spat into it. "Elder Brother told me last night that you make him… feel. Feel in a way, with an intensity, he never experienced before. He asked me if that was such a terrible thing. At first I wanted to say yes, that it could only bring down misery upon him." Danila winced and fell silent for a moment, lost briefly in a memory. He sighed and continued. "But then, I thought about how _I_ feel. The way I feel towards him. The sense of kinship, of love… I would not trade that for anything in thrice-nine lands. Why should he be denied what I can know? And yet… I could not answer him. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth…" he trailed off, shaking his head in confusion.

Kitty smiled gently. "Thank you, Danila."

He looked at her. "For what?"

"For telling me all that, for caring about Peter. It makes me feel a little better, knowing that he hasn't lived this new life entirely bereft of love."

Danila looked at her silently, then nodded. His lips pursed in a slight frown. "…I still do not like you very much, my lady," he said, but with little force.

Kitty laughed softly, her expression a trifle melancholy. "No, I suppose you don't have much reason to, all things considered."

* * *

Koschei the Deathless uttered a Word of Power, gestured and clenched a bony fist. A pillar of golden fire erupted in the Great Hall, blazing high up into the vast, vaulted, shadow-shrouded ceiling. The assembled _zalozhiny _cried out as one, raising their weapons as they saluted their maker and master. They turned on their heels and marched into the flaming gate in good order, followed by Koschei's champions. First Vultariax, his metallic plumage clattering out an ominous dirge, next Myedvyed Tsar, his massive clawed paws clicking against stone, letting out wet snorts as his head swung back and forth. Misery followed, silent and sinister, floating a few inches off the floor, his arms folded across his chest, his emaciated hands concealed in the voluminous sleeves of his black sackcloth caftan. Finally came Nikolai the Deathless. He paused before the gate, looking up the onyx dais with narrowed eyes. Koschei nodded his head in acknowledgement. Nikolai placed a gauntleted fist over his heart, sketched a slight bow, and stepped through, vanishing. Koschei opened his fist and the pillar of fire disappeared without a trace.

Koschei slumped in his malachite throne, letting out an almost inaudible sigh, his agate hard eyes closing. Strange, how great his fatigue grew the closer he approached his goal. Feats such as this did not tire him so in the old days. He shook his head. It did not matter. Soon he would be beyond all weariness, all harm. The vast power he had sacrificed to preserve himself throughout the ages would be his again. He would not be thwarted. Koschei opened his eyes. They blazed with predatory anticipation. "Solovey," he called, his voice echoing through the Hall like the toll of a bell of doom. From the darkness behind the throne stepped Solovey Razboynik, resplendent in crimson and gold. With a short bow he placed an ivory and gold scepter in Koschei's outstretched hand. The sorcerer laid it across his lap. "Solovey, it is time to deal with our young guest. Fetch her."

Solovey bowed again, his shark's grin widening. "Your most disturbing command I obey, great lord." He descended the dais quickly, gesturing at shadows congregating at the far wall as he strode towards an exit. Six _zalozhiny_ stepped forth and followed him. Koschei closed his eyes again, turning his scepter over his hands as he reviewed the spells he would call upon soon. Thin, black lips peeled away from yellowing fangs, twisting into a devil's smile.

* * *

The Beast peered at his readout display and scowled. "Got an update, Cyclops. Peter just jumped locations."

"Where to?" Cyclops asked, peering straight ahead, hands steady on the Blackbird's throttle.

"One moment. Triangulating. Here we go. He's just manifested in Kyoto – guess we now know where that third seed he mentioned is."

"Do we divert course?" asked Emma.

"No way," snapped Wolverine. "We've come this way to rescue Kitty, nothin' else."

"Logan's right," said Cyclops. "Shadowcat's safety is our primary concern." He glanced at his instrument panel. "We're only five minutes to Lake Baikal. This could work to our advantage. If Peter is searching Kyoto for the third seed, then he most likely took his henchmen with him. His stronghold may be empty."

"Except for Koschei himself," commented Frost. "And if what Savin told us is credible, he's potentially as powerful as Peter and his other servants combined."

Cyclops nodded. "We'll have to play it very carefully – the plan is to get in, find Kitty, and get out quickly, with as little confrontation as possible. We'll save Koschei for another day."

"It's a plan," conceded Wolverine grudgingly. "But personally, I want ta find out just how 'deathless' this sorcerer is." He clenched his right fist, his claws hissing out of their sheathes. "I plan on teachin' him the cost of messin' with my friends and family."

"How charmingly paternalistic," murmured Frost.

"More ta life than money and fucking, Frost. Thought you finally learned that, but I've been wrong before."

"Enough people," snapped Cyclops. "Last thing we need is to be at each others throats before stepping into unknown and hostile territory."

Beast sighed softly. "Someone remind me again why I left the Avengers, with the plush mansion, five star meals, generous stipend and pension plan, and hordes of adoring groupies, so I could rejoin this outfit?"

The grim line of Cyclops' mouth twitched slightly. "Because you're just like me, Hank – a glutton for punishment."

Beast grinned sardonically. "Ah, I knew there was a logical explanation. When this is over, someone remind me to go on a diet."

Cyclops let out a brief chuckle before resuming his serious demeanor. "Lake Baikal, dead ahead. Get ready people, we're heading down."

* * *

Kitty finished her chocolate, set her empty cup aside, and stretched. She glanced down at Danila, who was again sitting down and staring into the fire. Kitty sighed, the feeling of cabin fever starting to reassert itself. "Danila, would it be possible for me to go outside? I'm feeling cramped in here, and I think I've forgotten what the sun looks like. I really could use a breath of fresh air."

Danila looked up at her for a moment, almost hesitantly, then quickly looked away. "I think it would be best if we wait until Elder Brother comes back."

Kitty frowned, her suspicions suddenly piqued. "Is something the matter?"

Danila looked at her again, his lips pursed in a tight line. "Nothing is wrong – yet. Elder Brother simply has some concerns, and wishes you to stay here in the comfort of your suite until he returns."

"Concerns? What sort of concerns?"

"Concerns that – " Danila stopped and suddenly looked in the direction of the door. He canted his head, sniffed, then in a blur jumped to his feet. "Concerns that he was justified in feeling," the young werewolf finished. "Get behind me, my lady."

Kitty stood up, turning towards the door but not obeying Danila. He growled softly and padded forward, moving in a crouch. "What's happening?" Kitty demanded, though she felt certain she knew.

"I fear the Master has grown tired of your presence, and has decided to take steps to remove it." He tested the air again, his growl growing louder. "He has unraveled part of the ward Elder Brother set on your chambers – enough of it so he can send something to fetch you undetected. I smell and hear _zalozhiny_; they are moving with purpose."

Kitty started to pry at the silver collar around her neck. "Get this thing off of me! I can help you better if my powers aren't neutralized."

Danila shook his head. "I do not know the Word that opens it. Even if I did," he turned his head and grinned at her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, "I would not use it. You could easily run away, and Elder Brother is not done with you yet."

"I don't _want_ to run away, damn it!"

"Perhaps you speak the truth, but I would not risk it. I still do not wholly trust you. But do not fear – as long as I'm in here, sound of body and mind, they can not touch you without alerting the _knyaz_." Kitty frowned and bit her lower lip. She did not feel reassured. She kicked out of her slippers, for better footing, and was about to try to tear off the skirt of her dress when a knock like a cannon blast boomed against her chamber door. The polished oak began to darken in ugly splotches, then flake and crumble, fragments of rotten punk dropping to the floor. The bright arabesque decorating it dulled, decades worth of verdigris forming on the brass work in a brief span of seconds. Iron hinges rusted straight through and with shrieking groans broke. The door crashed to the floor, shattering, and over its rotting remains stepped _zalozhiny, _six of them, forming a line before Danila. They ignored the presence of the young werewolf, staring beyond him, their hollow, sightless eyes focusing completely on Kitty. Despite her experience, Kitty could not help but shiver slightly beneath their gaze.

Danila snarled, his fists clenching, his form beginning to ripple as his anger grew, but he held his wolf-shape in check. He would not start anything, though, by Perun, he would finish it. "How dare you do this thing, wretched _kholops_; you trespass in the _knyaz_'s demesne! I command you now, depart!"

The _zalozhiny_ spoke as one; their voices dry whispers, like winds blown through a desert tomb. _We will not depart_, they said. _We are commanded by a power greater than thee, Lord Danila Volkevich. The Master wishes to see the girl. We will take her to him. Step aside, or suffer…_

Danila snarled again, his body changing, his hands and feet growing larger, his legs twisting, his mouth elongating into a canine's muzzle, his ears shifting, rising to the top of his head, becoming triangular points. His clothing vanished as thick, long, glossy black fur sprouted all over his body. The youth disappeared entirely, and in his place stood a growling man-wolf, the lips of his jaws rolled back to reveal rows of long, razor sharp teeth, dripping ropy strands of saliva, his massive, clawed paws clenching and unclenching.

"Go, now!" commanded Volkevich, his youthful tenor now a basso roar. He stepped towards the _zalozhiny_, who retreated, their bony hands reaching for the hilts of their swords. "Depart, or else I will howl for my Elder Brother. He will come, and his wrath will be terrible!"

"No, I think not," declared Solovey as he stepped from the hallway into the chamber, smiling his shark's smile, his left hand resting on the pommel of his saber, his right held behind his back. "I think you will be a good little puppy, and let us escort this fine lady to the Master."

"Razboynik," spat Danila, snarling even louder as the _zalozhiny_ parted ranks to allow the bandit-troubadour to pass. "You are not welcome here, brigand."

"I am not welcome in most places, Wolf's Son. That fact does not trouble me in the least."

"I will not repeat myself, Razboynik: take your scum and leave the _knyaz's_ demesne – NOW! Or are you fool enough to think you can stop my howl?"

"Well then, I guess I am a fool," drawled Solovey, a sinister, amused gleam lighting his onyx eyes. He drew his hand from behind his back, holding it before Danila. Pinched between two fingers and a thumb was a golden sphere, a little larger than a thimble. Solovey's hand tensed as he began to squeeze the sphere. Danila's eyes opened wide, and he let out a startled gasp. He staggered back, clutching at his chest, a whining moan of pain hissing through his grit fangs. He fell, dropping to the floor, curling up in a fetal position, a blur playing over him as he reverted to his human form. Kitty stared at the tableau in shock, her palm held up to her mouth. "What are you doing? You're hurting him!"

"So I am…" Solovey grinned at her, canting his head slightly, then looked down at the young man writhing in agony. "Would you like to hear a story, Danila? I think you will find it of interest, since you play such a prominent role in it." Solovey tossed the sphere into the air, caught it as it fell, clutching it tight. Danila groaned anew, and began to beat the carpeted floor with his fist. Solovey chuckled. "Not long ago, mighty Koschei the Deathless decided to send his son out on errantry. So he called Prince Nikolai Black Sun into his presence, and commanded 'Cross Thrice-Nine Lands to the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom. Once there, go to the heart of Baba Yaga's forest, and draw water from the Fountains of Death and Life. Then go to such-and-such a village, where you will find under a heap of stones the moldering bones of Danila Volkevich, son of the Great Grey Wolf and Alexia the Beautiful, sleeping the Long Sleep, an ash-wood stake buried in his breast. Feed him the Waters of Death and Life, and take him as your vassal, for he will serve us well.' And so, Nikolai the Deathless obeyed this command, completing it in less time it takes to tell it, but in more time than it takes to think it, and returned to his father's hall with the Grey Wolf's resurrected progeny following at his heels." Solovey squatted down, leering at the young man writhing in pain. "Now, here is the part of the story you do not know, puppy. Attend my words well. Unbeknownst to Prince Nikolai, Koschei the Deathless ordered Solovey Razboynik to follow his son in secret, to gauge his quality, and to execute a task in secret. Solovey, well paid for his troubles, obeyed. He watched the prince, unseen, through every step of his journey, up until Nikolai woke Danila Volkevich and took him away. When the two departed, Solovey searched the opened cairn. It was not quite empty; there were fragments of bone left behind, you see – pieces of rib from where the ash-wood stake pierced your chest, puppy. Right here." He jabbed Danila sharply with a forefinger. The young werewolf yelped and tried to grab Solovey, but the bandit seized him by the back of the neck and pinned him down, burying his face in the carpet. Solovey squeezed the golden sphere harder, and Danila screamed.

"Stop it! Leave him alone, you bastard!" Kitty leaped towards Solovey and Danila, but was stopped by the _zalozhiny_, who moved forward to block her, encircling her, their swords drawn in menace. Solovey ignored her. He leaned down close to Danila's head, and whispered in his ear.

"You see, puppy, the Master wanted to make sure his hold on you was absolute. A shame he could not do the same with the _knyaz_, but Nikolai's inherent powers could not be completely subverted. But you, my darling, beautiful boy… you we have. Through this bit of bone in this golden bauble, I touch your soul. I could pull it apart, strand-by-strand. I think I will… unless you obey me."

"I would sooner go to my knees before Chernobog!" hissed Danila. Solovey laughed at his defiance.

"That could be arranged, puppy." He yanked the young man's hair, pulled his head up, drove his face into the floor. Danila struggled, then screamed helplessly as Solovey asserted greater pressure on the sphere. "Submit or die in agony, boy. Submit or die submit or die submit –"

With a yell Kitty attacked the _zalozhiny_ directly in front of her, smashing aside its sword, palm-striking it across the face. It staggered from the blow, and she grabbed skeleton by the collar of its threadbare greatcoat and hurled it away. She rushed forward as the other _zalozhiny _trying to seize her. Solovey looked up and whispered a word. A sonic bolt struck Kitty in the stomach. With a gasp she sagged, stunned, two of the undead swordsmen taking hold of her arms, to keep her from falling. Danila let out a great howl of agony.

"Enough, Solovey! I yield…"

Solovey glanced down. "Good puppy. I knew there was some sense buried in that thick skull of yours. Will you obey my commands?"

"…Yes…" Danila whispered, closing his eyes tight, tears of pain and humiliation welling in their corners.

"Then swear upon the bone I hold and your soul that you will not interfere with us, nor call the _knyaz,_ or tell him what we now do with this girl."

"I… swear it… by the bone in your hand… and upon my soul…" The golden sphere glittered briefly. Solovey nodded in satisfaction and rose.

"You are bound by your word. It will prove unpleasant if you go back on it." He stepped over Danila's prone form, and walked up to Kitty, now recovered from the sonic strike. She scowled, and struggled against the _zalozhiny_, but they held fast, their grip cold and implacable on her bare arms. Solovey chuckled, taking hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him straight in the eyes. "You are a pretty little thing. Not as buxom as I like, but I can see why the _knyaz_ dotes on you." He released her chin and let his hand drift down onto her right breast. Kitty's eyes went wide and her face blanched bone-white. Solovey brought his face close to hers and leered. "It is a shame that the Master wants you intact. The fire in you, it would be fun to quench." He squeezed her cruelly, twisting his hand. Kitty cried out in pain. Enraged, she tried to kick Solovey in the groin, but her gown hampered her, and he turned his leg to block her easily. The bandit-troubadour laughed, stepping away. "Take her to the Master." The _zalozhiny _nodded and carried Kitty out of her chambers, lifting her off her feet as she struggled and cursed. Solovey followed behind, pausing briefly in the doorway to look back at Danila. He had propped himself on his forearms, staring down at the rug in shame, breathing in great gasps of air. Solovey smirked. "See you later, puppy." With a mocking wave of his hand, he departed. Danila stared after the bandit, his face flushed, his teeth grinding. He clenched his hands and forced himself up, his form rippling as he did. He transformed into a black dire wolf, and, silent as a ghost, followed after Kitty and Solovey.

The _zalozhiny _marched through the shadowy halls, ignoring the struggles and curses of their captive, Solovey trailing behind, watching Kitty with amusement. Suddenly the undead stopped and looked up towards the ceiling. Solovey frowned and glanced up as well. "It seems that we have company," he said thoughtfully. "Your friends have somehow found us." Kitty looked at him sharply. Solovey shook his head and shrugged. "Do not get your hopes up –you will be beyond their reach quite soon. But have no fear – our _zalozhiny _will attend to their needs." Solovey snapped his fingers and the group continued towards the Great Hall. Behind them, unnoticed, Danila lurked in wolf form, staring after them with bright gold eyes. He glanced back the way he came, then towards the departing group. His mind raced furiously. He shut his eyes, whining slightly as he came to a decision. He turned around and raced back the way he came, passing Kitty's abandoned suite, rushing towards the stairs that led to the clean air above.

* * *

My God, has it been over three months since I last posted a chapter of _Deathless_?

I didn't mean to leave it fallow for so long. As I've stated before, a number of things conspired against me – the holiday season, other projects (including Muir: The Story That Would Not End) and a lack of enthusiasm towards _Deathless _as a whole. Thankfully, I've managed to shake some of the last off – at least enough to finish this chapter.

I initially planned on having Chapter 10 twice as long, finishing Kitty's imprisonment in Koschei's hall and setting up the finale, but I've now decided to cut it in half, so not to leave all of you out there waiting for another month. Kitty being taken by Solovey made for a good stopping point. I hope to have Chapter 11 out in considerably less than three months. Keep your fingers crossed.

On to reader mail:

Listen2Murmurs – Well, I didn't answer your first two questions, but at least you got a substantial response to the third. Hoped you liked this chapter.

Madripoor Rose/B – Thanks for putting me on your favorites list. I still find it gratifying that so many people think highly of this story. I think I know of the story you mentioned, though I don't believe it's in my big bug-crusher collection of Russian Fairy Tales. I think it was dramatized in an episode of Jim Henson's wonderful television show 'The Storyteller' – a series that will hopefully be put out on DVD one day. As for Kitty as a Valley Girl, I think it's due to Evo exclusively, though, in all honesty, I haven't seen it bleed into mainstream or movie-verse stories very much.

Amokitty – No, we don't get to see this side of Kitty and Peter's relationship very much at all. Besides _Dreams of Fire_, there's that chapter of _Paper Flowers_, a few of Madripoor Rose's stories, and a series called _Letting the Cables Sleep_, which is all right, but could benefit from some rewriting – especially the last chapter, which has some really unfortunate description – and that's about it. I hope to write a few more pieces like _Dreams_, if I am spared – either solo or in conjunction with Lia Fail. Keep your eyes peeled.

Dark-bat – I'm glad you liked _Dreams_. I tried hard to keep it above a certain level of taste, partly because of FFNet's rating rules, partly because I care very much for these two characters, and didn't want to ask too much of their dignity.

Darkstorm 5000 – Good call on Kitty's reasons for not following through with her idea. And yeah, if Kitty and Peter ever get together, I think Scott better think about adding additional sound-proofing to the mansion… that is, if Emma lets him. It depends on how caught up her telepathic abilities get in the tsunami of emotional release. ;)

I made you blush. Kewl…

Lia Fail – You are so right – smutty stories are a ton of fun. Or, at least they are when they are well written and have a plot! Seriously, thanks very much for the praise. I always look forward to your comments. And yeah, I liked the little touch of it being Peter's first time as well. That was actually one of my favorite parts of the story to write, him admitting that and Kitty teasing him gently about it.

Kirayoshi – Thanks for the kind words! As for Baba Yaga, there are some tales in which she is actually married to Koschei… Brrrr… a horrible thought. Actually, this is the case for this version of Koschei as well, though these two formidable sorcerers are currently estranged. Baba Yaga won't be playing a role in _Deathless_, though I may use her in a future story. I'm going to have to do a little research, though – it seems, to my surprise, she's met Peter before…

Kitty Rasputin – Hey, Massachusetts has boondocks too. Actually, where I live isn't really that much of a Hicksville. For that, you'd have to go out west into Dunwich country. There are towns between Boston and Springfield where the town mascot is a rat (to quote Robert B. Parker).

Trust me, this dream wasn't sent by Koschei. In fact, if he were aware that it happened, he would be even more worried than he is now. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. As for your questions:

1. I haven't run across Kitty as Valley Girl very often save in Evo stories, where it originated. In Evo stories I don't mind, since it's part of Evo Kitty's characterization, as long as the writer doesn't go overboard with it.

2. Yeah, I loved Astonishing #6 cover as well. It was gorgeous, and, objectively, I think it was the best cover yet, though #2 and the group shot of the initial Astonishing line-up comes close.

Sorry it took me so long to update. I hope you enjoyed my other stories the interim. Hopefully I won't be so long with _Deathless _again.

Next up – The first chapter of a new collaboration with Lia Fail, and hopefully _Deathless _Chapter 11: Treachery Part 2.

Thanks all for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	13. Chapter 11 Treachery Part 2

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics, and are used without permission.

Chapter 11 Treachery Part 2

Cyclops surveyed his surroundings, his stoic expression belying his frustration. He stood on the slope of a gentle, grassy incline, towering larch and cedar trees that grew in healthy profusion around him. Some two hundred yards away the northern reaches of Lake Baikal stretched out in serene beauty, its blue waters gently lapping and swelling from the mild September breeze. Cyclops noted this abundant natural beauty clinically as he and his team searched without success for some sign of Koschei's Hall. "Beast?" he called out.

Beast scowled at the scanner in his hand, shaking his head irritably as he turned towards his team leader. "I'm getting the same thing I got on the Blackbird – nothing. The reading of Peter's initial location indicated he was underground, but I've been unable to find any sign of caverns or tunnels anywhere."

"Are we being jammed?"

"Nope. More likely our equipment is being fooled by a sophisticated cloak."

"Of supernatural origin," added Cyclops. Beast nodded and made a face.

"Have I mentioned recently how much I hate magic?"

"Not in the past five minutes. Are you having any better luck, Emma?"

Frost had her leather cloak drawn tight around her tensed body. She stood ramrod straight, her full lips pursed in a tight frown of concentration as she slowly, methodically looked around. A full minute passed, and she relaxed, letting out a sigh of frustration as her shoulders slumped. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, Scott. I've stretched as far as I could with my psychic perception, but I detected nothing but the ambient wild life. Either Pryde is out of range, or my abilities are being subtly thwarted." She did not voice the third possibility everyone was cognizant of.

Cyclops clenched his fist, tapping his thigh with his knuckles. "How about you, Wolverine? Are we zero for three?"

"'Fraid so, Cyke." The Canadian mutant turned from the larch tree he stood next to and walked towards Cyclops, anger and concern prominent on his cowled face. "Same as Beast and Frost. I'm pickin' up nothing that ain't suppose to be here."

Cyclops said nothing, lost in deep thought, his keen mind analyzing everything he knew and been told. "Beast, how precise was your initial scan from the War Room?"

"Very. The margin for error is less than one percent. We're practically standing on top of where Peter was when I received the initial signal."

Cyclops stared at the ground. "But that doesn't mean that an entrance to his stronghold is anywhere near here. Even if it were, there's no guarantee that we could find it, let alone figure out how to open it. And I don't know if we have the time to keep searching." Cyclops sighed, steeling himself as he adjusted his visor. "How far underground was Peter?"

"At least a hundred feet."

"All right. I'm afraid we're going to have to eschew stealth for brute force, team. I'm going to make us an ingress."

"Sounds messy," said Wolverine. "I like it."

"Your blast is powerful enough to displace that much earth?" asked Frost.

"Given time and focus, I can blast through the root of a mountain," answered Cyclops. "But God knows what kind of shape I'm going to be in afterwards. And Wolverine is right about it being messy - I might as well put up a big neon sign saying 'The X-Men are here' while I'm at it. Koschei and whatever else is down there will definitely know we are coming."

"Are you sure about this, Scott?" asked Beast.

"Frankly no, but we aren't exactly drowning in options right now. It's either this, or we wait for Peter to make another move, and I have the feeling we can't afford that. We'll head down farther towards the lakeshore. I'll start at the base of the incline."

"Wait a minute," growled Wolverine. He cocked his head, looked around sharply.

"What is it?" asked Frost quietly.

"I hear something. Something diggin'."

Beast looked around as well. "I hear it too. And I smell something."

"Yeah," agreed Wolverine. He clenched his fists, his claws hissing out of their housings. "Something dead."

Down slope the ground in front of a gnarled pine tree exploded, raining dirt and rock everywhere. From this wound gouged in the earth rose a _zalozhiny,_ shrieking as it leveled its musket at the X-Men. A red beam of mystic energy lanced out from the gun, and the X-Men scattered apart, dodging the shot. Cyclops hit the ground with a roll, came up on one knee, swiveled and returned fire, his optic blast lifting the undead marksman out of its hole and slamming it back against the pine, shattering its skeletal body into splinters of filthy bone. As its remains clattered to the ground, more _zalozhiny_ erupted forth – swordsmen, axemen, musketeers – clamoring eagerly to their feet, letting loose their earsplitting battle cries.

Wolverine snarled, parrying an axe strike with crossed claws, then riposted with a high kick to the side of his assailant's head, followed by a slash that cut the legs out from underneath it. Two swordsmen charged, and he deposed of them with blurring uppercuts that sundered them from sternum to jawbone. He jerked his head out of the way of a musket blast, the energy beam notching the pointed left tip of his cowl. "No need fer a sign, Cyke. They know we're here!" he called out as he leapt towards the gunman.

"Oh really, shorty? What was your first clue?" Beast shouted back as he danced among a cluster of _zalozhiny_, smashing them with hammering fists and kicks, dodging counter-attacks by scant inches. He jumped free from the fray, landing near a clump of undergrowth and a large, half-buried stone as wide as his chest. He squatted down, grabbed the rock, and with a prodigious display of might wrenched it free from its centuries old resting place, lifting it high over his head. His opponents charged him, and he hurled the stone. It smashed through them like a cannon ball, destroying the majority and sending the few survivors sprawling to the ground, tangled in their comrades' remains. Beast growled in satisfaction, then his ears flattened. He ducked just in time to evade a strike to the head, the _zalozhiny's_ saber biting deep into a crooked larch. Before the skeleton could pull its weapon free, Beast knocked its head off with a high thrust kick square to the jaw.

Frost lashed out with double-handed sledgehammer blows, destroying _zalozhiny _with ruthless efficiency, She disdained defense; swords, axes and energy blasts – all bounced harmlessly off her diamond change-form. She noticed something coming at her from her right, dodging and weaving through the trees. She pivoted and came face-to-face with the largest _zalozhiny _she had yet seen. It stood at least six and a half feet tall, and clutched in its hands a massive, steel headed maul. It swung at her with inhuman speed and strength, catching her flush in the stomach. Frost gasped, doubling over and dropping to her knees as the breath rushed out of her. Pain flared up her chest as fine cracks spider-webbed her stomach. She clutched at it, desperately trying to keep herself together as the _zalozhiny _hefted its maul over its head, ready to bring it crashing down across Frost's vulnerable shoulders. But before it could strike an optic blast screamed out, obliterating the skeleton. The ruby red beam swept over Frost's head, clearing her immediate area of enemies. Cyclops rushed towards her, helping her as she scrambled slowly to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Yes… it just… took me a moment to… knit myself back together… _WATCH OUT!_" She lunged in front of Cyclops, shielding him from a barrage of musket shots. Cyclops cursed, returning fire over her shoulder.

"Cyclops, there's too many!" shouted Beast. "We're going to get over-run!"

"I know! Start falling back to the Blackbird."

"Hell with you, Summers!" roared Wolverine. "I ain't leavin' 'til I find Kitty!"

"We can't help her if these monsters kill us! We need to regroup, rethink our strategy – back to the Blackbird, NOW!"

"No!"

"Damn it, Logan! I'm – "

**_"STAND DOWN!" _**A booming basso voice suddenly roared out in Russian, cutting off Cyclops. To the X-Men's surprise, the _zalozhiny _faltered in their attack. A few of them continued to press forward, only to check themselves when the command repeated. The skeletons lowered their weapons and stepped away from the X-Men, their empty eyes remaining locked on the mutants.

"What the hell happened?" Beast asked, glancing around warily.

"He did," answered Frost, pointing down the incline. "Look." Stalking up towards them was a tall, black furred wolfman, its bared fangs gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. It moved with grace and obvious purpose. As it came closer, its form began to shimmer. It transformed into a young man with a shaggy black mane of hair, clad in a wolf pelt, white linen shirt, and doe skin breeches. The _zalozhiny _made way for him. He halted before the X-Men, breathing in harsh gasps, his face very pale, his golden eyes blazing.

The X-Men gathered together, watching both the _zalozhiny _and the strange young man. "I think this is my sparring partner from San Francisco, Cyclops," Beast muttered under his breath.

Cyclops nodded slightly. "Any idea what he wants, Emma?"

"No, not precisely. I don't understand Russian. He's emotions are agitated, however. Frantic."

"Do you understand me?" the young man snapped.

"Yes, we do," Cyclops answered in Russian. He, Wolverine and Beast all spoke the language fluently, while Frost could read his mind for translation. "What do you want with us?"

"You have come to rescue the _knyazhna_ - Katerina Anna - yes? You wish to save her? I will show you the way, but we must make haste – time is short, and she is in grave danger."

"What sort of danger?" demanded Wolverine. The young man shook his head.

"I do not know, save no doubt it is a foul fate. The Master called for her, and I could not prevent her from being taken. My Elder Brother, whom you call Piotr, charged me with her protection, and by my father's pelt, I will not fail. Come."

"Emma?" prompted Cyclops.

"He's telling the truth, Scott. I sense no attempts at concealment."

"We have no time for you to talk," snarled the young man. "Seconds are precious as diamonds. Follow me." He turned on his bare heel and stalked back the way he came.

"You heard the kid," growled Wolverine, and started after him. The _zalozhiny_ reacted, leveling muskets and lifting blades. Instantly the young man wheeled around. "**_Stand down, damn you!_**" he roared, and then shouted a Word that none of the X-Men understood. It echoed through the woods, reverberating like a thunder stroke. The skeletal soldiers slumped forward, shoulders hunched, and slowly began to sink into the ground, as if the solid earth beneath them had transmuted to quicksand. "Return to your sleep, and do not awaken until I call." The young man glared at the X-Men. "Stop gaping like witless peasants and follow me." He continued down the slope, Wolverine quick on his heels. Frost and Cyclops traded long looks before following. The Beast stood alone for a moment, rubbing his jaw as he watched the last of the _zalozhiny_ disappear, swallowed utterly by the earth. He shuddered violently. "I _hate_ magic," he muttered, and walked after his teammates and new found guide.

Reaching the lakeshore the young man turned to face up the incline and gestured for the X-Men to stand behind him. He stretched out his arm - his fingers outspread - then clenched his hand into a fist, veins and tendons standing out sharply against his pale skin. The ground trembled slightly and there was a muted grinding of stone as an opening yawned into existence on the incline. Polished stone steps led down into the depths of the earth, the darkness held at bay by torches set in sconces and baroque brass lanterns set in niches cut from the walls of the slanting shaft. The young man looked over his shoulder. "Stay close to my heels – the Hall can be treacherous to those who do not know it." His body began to blur, his limbs twisting, sprouting black hair, the features of his face elongating, his eyes slanting. A great black wolf loped down the stairs.

"Are you sure this isn't a trap, Emma?" Beast asked.

"I think I resent that. I'd resent that more if I didn't know how nervous you are, Henry. How nervous we all are."

"It's said the oldest and strongest of all fears is fear of the unknown." The Beast sighed. "There should be an inscription here. 'Abandon all hope' yada yada yada."

"Never," growled Wolverine. Cyclops nodded in agreement. The X-Men descended, Wolverine leading the way.

* * *

The _zalozhiny_ carried the struggling Kitty Pryde into the Great Hall. Solovey Razboynik strolled after them, smiling wickedly and very much pleased with himself, rolling the golden sphere containing a shard of Danila's rib between his thumb and forefinger. Marching to the base of the great onyx dais, the two _zalozhiny_ holding Kitty pushed her to her knees. One seized her chin and forced her to look up. Koschei the Deathless stared at her with cold, pitiless agate eyes, thin, blackened lips curled back in a malicious smile, his rotting fangs gleaming in the dim lantern light. A withered, gray tongue snaked out and ran slowly over the yellowing, pitted teeth. He rose from his malachite throne, holding his arms open in a mocking gesture of welcome. "Ah, my lady Pryde, it is so good of you to visit this lonely old man. My son is right – your beauty truly illuminates this drear fortress. I do hope you have found our hospitality here to your taste."

"I'd be enjoying it more if you hadn't sent your bullies here to snatch me," she retorted. "Peter won't be happy about this."

"_Nikolai_ will understand." Koschei descended the dais, his ivory and gold scepter resting casually on his bony shoulder. "We have matters of pressing importance to discuss, you and I."

"Such as?"

Koschei reached the polished stone floor and stood before Kitty, staring down at her with condescending amusement. "Such as your place here in my Hall."

"There's nothing to discuss. I'm Peter's guest, not _your_ prisoner. Discussion closed. Now kindly let me up now, and I promise I won't take that scepter away from you and bust your head open with it."

Koschei let out a short bark of laughter. "As I've said before, you are far too audacious for your own good, my lady Pryde. If I were a less patient man, I would cut that venomous tongue right out of your pretty little mouth."

"You wouldn't dare."

"There is _nothing_ I would not dare, girl," hissed Koschei. "Never forget that." Then he chuckled, a disconcerting sound, and shook his head. "But come, let us not bicker. We should be rejoicing, my dear, for I am to bestow upon you a great honor."

"I'm touched, but you'll forgive me if I'm dubious about how much of an honor what you have in mind for me is."

"I forgive your doubt. I can afford to be magnanimous." Koschei leered salaciously at Kitty. She swallowed hard, feeling something within her shrink and cower under the sorcerer's gaze, scrabbling like a frightened animal desperately seeking shelter. But she refused to flinch, to look away from those merciless eyes. She would not give Koschei the satisfaction of seeing her afraid. "Enough," growled Kitty. "Quit your games – all you're doing is boring me."

"Perhaps this will excite your waning interest. I need to rectify a long-standing negligence, and you, dear Katerina, will play a vital role in my amends."

"You're going to free me and undo the spells you have latched on Peter's mind?" Kitty asked brightly. "Awfully kind of you, Koschei."

"An amusing thought, but no. Nikolai has served me well. I would not lose him for anything within thrice-ten kingdoms. Loyal, brave, skilled… I could not ask for a better son. And yet, to my shame, I have not been thorough in fulfilling the paternal duties I owe him. True, I have trained him in warfare and sorcery, and in these arts he has excelled. I honor him above all other vassals, providing him with wealth and comfort. But I have not seen to his _other _needs. It is far past time that I did so. Nikolai is my warlord and heir, a Great Prince of the Earth. It is only proper for a being of his exalted caste to have his own seraglio."

Kitty licked her lips, her stomach churning sickly. Suddenly she felt as if she were fourteen again, trapped in the Morlocks' tunnels. Callisto had leered at her the way Koschei did now. "Seraglio?" she echoed quietly.

"Yes – and you, Katerina Anna Pryde, shall be its first inmate, serving as my darling childe's chief concubine. As I said, a great honor. Do you not agree?"

"No, I don't." Kitty responded through gritted teeth. "And I think Peter won't either."

"I do not share your pessimism." Koschei canted his head slightly, an anticipatory gleam alighting in his cruel eyes. "Admittedly, as you are now, you are not suitable for Nikolai. You are impertinent. A proper concubine holds her tongue and knows her place, and you seem incapable of such discretion. When I am done with you, you meddling _chit_, the pleasures of Nikolai will be all you know or desire. You will be a mirror, reflecting only the wishes of my son." Koschei pointed his scepter towards the far side of the hall. The stone floor cracked apart, and into the gap water gushed and bubbled. In seconds a deep pool of icy water formed. Kitty stared at it over her shoulder, perplexed, and then the implications struck her. "**NO**!" she screamed, struggling violently against her captors. The hands of the _zalozhiny_ were unyielding.

"Do not struggle," said Koschei. "It is undignified. _Weird_ cannot be thwarted. You will make a most fetching _rusalki,_ Katerina." He gestured negligently at the dais and two _zalozhiny_ emerged from the shadows, bearing iron manacles. They stalked towards Kitty and chained her wrists and ankles. She gasped at their great weight, and would have doubled over if not for the skeletons holding her upright. With inhuman strength they lifted and carried her towards the pool with slow, ceremonious steps. Kitty redoubled her efforts to break free, refusing to surrender even though rational thought told her there was no escape this time. "Peter won't accept this!" she shouted at Koschei. "If you kill me you'll lose him forever!"

"I am not killing you, girl. I am transforming you. It is a small death, brief and painless, not the Great Sleep that is the fate of all beings save myself. You also underestimate my ability. I am the architect of Nikolai's being. _Nothing_ within the palace of his mind is barred from me. When he returns I will, with the subtlest of touches, reweave his memory. He will find you waiting for him in his chambers – submissive, eager to please – and will think that you have always been there for him, his favored plaything. He will never know otherwise." Koschei's voice had lowered to an obscene, spidery whisper – soft, yet audible. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed, great peals of black mockery, a devil's mirth. "Is it not clever, this deed I commit? Is it not cunning, how I subvert the ties between you and my son to my purposes? Your existence is the clay in my hold on Nikolai, and now I turn that clay into imperishable steel. He is mine, to cherish or squander as I see fit, as are you, now and forever. For I am Koschei the Deathless, and soon, I will be Koschei the Eternal!"

"Let's test that statement," a deep baritone voice called. A crimson beam of force shrieked out from the shadows cloaking the far end of the hall. It struck Koschei square on his side, flinging him up and away. He crashed hard against the opposite wall, his impact cratering it, and collapsed down in a sprawled heap. A second beam blasted towards Solovey. The bandit-troubadour twisted around, drawing out his saber in time to parry it, but he was not properly braced. The force knocked him off his feet, and he fell hard, the golden sphere jarred from his hand. It gleamed brightly as it rolled away on the stone floor. The shadows spat forth a huge black wolf with yellow-golden eyes. In a fuligin blur it raced out, snapped up the sphere in slavering jaws and retreated, swallowing the bauble as it ran. The wolf vanished back into darkness, and from the darkness the X-Men emerged, grim and battle-ready.

_"We have been breached!"_ screamed Solovey. _"Zalozhiny!"_ He managed to parry another optic blast, but it sent him skidding across the floor. The _zalozhiny_ clustered around Kitty turned from her, drew their sabers and charged, howling out unholy rage. From all directions the rapid tramp of boots echoed as reinforcements raced through hallways in answer of Solovey's hue and cry. Two of the skeletons still held Kitty, and continued to drag her towards the icy pool.

Wolverine roared, adamantium claws hissing free of bionic housings, and charged straight at the cluster of undead warriors, the Beast following hard on his heels. The Canadian mutant raced through the _zalozhiny_, cutting them down like a scythe through wheat, leaving the survivors for Beast to mop up. He caught Kitty's captors close to the edge of the pool, where they dropped her and turned to face him. Wolverine shattered one's skull with a stabbing punch as it fumbled at the hilt of its saber and cut the other one in half, slashing clean through its waist. The skeletons crumbled into heaps of bone and rotting silks. Wolverine turned to Kitty, who was struggling against her manacles in an effort to stand. "Hold still, pun'kin. I'll have you outta that in a second."

Kitty shook her head. "No. Cut my collar off. It's inhibiting my powers!" Wolverine nodded once as Kitty bared her neck and the silver collar encircling it. Adamantium flashed; the collar clattered dulcetly against stone, followed by the coarser rattle of iron chains. Kitty latched on to Wolverine, hugging him tight, tears of relief brimming in her eyes. "Logan, thank God! Koschei was going to… Oh Logan!"

"It's okay, Kitty." He patted her gently between the shoulders. "C'mon. Let's go help Hank and the rest then get the hell outta here."

Kitty pulled away, grinning. "Sounds like a pla - _look out!_" She phased, pulling a startled Wolverine down into the floor with her. A split second later a sonic wave roared through the space they vacated. Solovey stalked forward, hissing angrily, saber held ready. He looked around sharply, turning in a circle as he searched for any sign of the two X-Men. "You cannot hide forever, little girl," he growled.

"Who said anything about hiding?" Solovey spun, slashing out with his saber. It cut harmless through Kitty, who had just risen up out of the stone, Wolverine behind her. She grimaced – enchantments on the saber made her feel odd as it passed through her separated molecules – and punched Solovey in the throat. He staggered back choking, black eyes bulging in their sockets, his pale, handsome countenance twisting and flushing red. Kitty kicked out his legs, dropping him hard on his back, his saber clattering from his grasp. She pounced on top of him, her expression one of righteous fury. "Here's – payback – you – _bastard!_" she snarled, punctuating each word with a punch across the face. She stopped pummeling him, seized him by the hair and began to repeatedly slam the back of his skull against the unyielding floor. Wolverine looked on with almost paternal approval before turning to deal with a squad of _zalozhiny_ clattering into the Hall from an entrance near the pool.

Battle raged through the Hall. Wolverine and the Beast engaged the _zalozhiny_ responding to Solovey's call in close combat, battering and clawing them to shreds. Cyclops blasted at skeletal musketeers, while Frost used her diamond changeform to shield him from counter fire. Seeing Kitty was free and unharmed, Cyclops was about to call for a withdrawal when a piercing howl rose up from the end of the Hall opposite of him. Koschei the Deathless surged up to his feet, crimson lightning coruscating around his emaciated form, his agate eyes transformed into orbs of golden fire. "_You vermin dare assail me?_" he screamed, his voice pitched high from outrage. "_Die for your folly!" _The crimson lightning gathered around his right hand. He flicked it at Cyclops; streamers of crackling energy lashed out. Frost interposed herself between the attack and her lover, screaming in agony as the chaos lightning scourged her, scoring hair-line cracks in her body, scorching her burnished diamond skin black. But even worse, she felt her soul – her essential self – writhe in contact with Koschei's sorcery – it threatened to destroy her spirit as well as her body. The blast played itself out, coursing down her and flowing into the ground. She dropped to knees, falling forward, gagging and heaving, involuntarily shifting back to her human form.

"_EMMA!_" Gritting his teeth, Cyclops opened his visor completely and unleashed a full-force blast at Koschei. The sorcerer sneered, waving his hand contemptuously. The beam of concussive force stopped inches from him, splashing against an invisible barrier. Koschei inhaled sharply and gathered chaos lightning in his hands again. Cyclops fired again, redirecting his attack upwards, blasting the ceiling above Koschei and sending tons of shattered granite hurtling down upon the sorcerer. Koschei threw a hand upward and called out a Word; a sphere of translucent crimson energy surrounded him just before he was buried completely.

Cyclops started to help Frost to her feet when a pillar of golden fire erupted in the center of the Hall. Out of it stepped Vultariax, who froze as he saw the mayhem surrounding him. "What?" he uttered in confusion, his raptor's head darting back and forth on top of his undulating neck. Cyclops shot him in the chest, hurling the chaos demon back into the flaming pillar. Vultariax vanished and the flame snuffed out.

"And that's our cue," muttered Cyclops under his breath. "Beast! Wolverine! Kitty! Let's go! Peter and his men are going to be back any second!"

Beast checked an axe stroke by seizing the arm of his opponent, then spun and heaved, throwing the _zalozhiny_ into the clustered ranks of his comrades before running to join up with Cyclops and Frost. Wolverine hewed down the last two skeletons facing him. An energy blast hummed by his head, missing his neck by an inch; more _zalozhiny_ were pouring into the Hall – musketeers and pikemen. Wolverine growled. "Kitty, time to haul ass. Move kid!" Kitty looked up, flushed and breathless, her golden-brown eyes slightly unfocused from her fit of rage. She shook her head sharply, punched the insensate Solovey one last time, then leaped to her feet, hiked up her skirt and ran towards her teammates. Cyclops provided cover, unleashing concentrated volleys of force blasts that kept the undead reinforcements off-balance. As soon as Beast, Wolverine and Kitty were past, gaining the safety of the corridor, he pushed the still recovering Frost behind him and yanked off his visor, unfettering his power. For a brief instant it seemed a crimson sun filled the entirety of the Hall. Cyclops relented, resetting his visor; every _zalozhiny_ within his sight had been reduced to powder and rags. He surveyed the devastation with grim satisfaction. Then blood-red lightning played across the rubble at the far end of the Hall. A cacophony of cracks and pops sounded as stone split and fractured, crumbling away into nothingness. Koschei stood unharmed, coated in gray dust, lightning dancing serpentine about his body. He strode purposefully towards Cyclops, while nearby Solovey Razboynik forced his battered body up, propping himself with his saber. He fumbled for a canteen hooked to his sash. The sound of numerous booted feet echoed through the Hall, and the pillar of golden fire again erupted in its center. Cyclops fired one last blast at Koschei before escaping down the corridor. Twenty yards down he found the X-Men waiting for him at an intersection. "What's the hold up?" he demanded.

"Our guide's vanished and Wolverine can't find our trail!" Beast snapped back. He was holding up Emma, who wavered in and out of consciousness.

"It's gone!" growled Wolverine. "I can't smell even a trace of it!"

From up the corridor came the rapid tramp of booted feet; the mutters of hollow voices grew more distinct. Cyclops turned around, hand going up to his visor. "Pick a direction and go! We need to put some distance between us and Koschei!"

"No, don't!" Kitty counter-ordered. "We'll just get hopelessly lost. This place is a labyrinth. We'll never get out that way. Everyone join hands." She looked up at the ceiling. "I just hope we're not too far underground…" she murmured.

"We're a hundred feet," Beast informed her.

"That's doable." Kitty took a deep breath, marshaling her strength, Wolverine holding her left hand, Cyclops her right. Cyclops supported Frost with his arm and shoulder, while Beast held Wolverine's free hand.

"You should be flattered, Logan. I don't usually let things go so far on the first date."

"Funny, fuzzball."

Kitty released herself, letting go of her material form. She and her teammates surged upward, molecules of air providing purchase for their intangible bodies. An energy blast ripped through Kitty's chest. She winced, the mystic force stinging her, but no more. She maintained her concentration, and the X-Men slipped through the stone ceiling. For an eternity they floated through darkness as Kitty strained against the effort phasing so many people; her every muscle seemed to twist and throb; her nerves were a jangle of agony. In the back of her skull a throbbing headache began to beat a devil's tattoo. Soon it seemed every atom in her body screamed at to stop, to end this intolerable pain, but she would not yield to their demand; adamantium would shatter against the hardness of her focused will.

And then they were free of darkness, hovering in a sun-dappled forest glade. Yet Kitty remained phased, not letting go until she was absolutely certain everyone's body was free and clear. She released her power, returning everyone to their material state. She collapsed to the grassy sward, trembling, taking sobbing breaths of relief as the pain left her. Wolverine was at her side, holding her up.

"You did great, pun'kin. You pulled us clean out of the fire." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Heh. We came to save you, and in the end you saved our sorry hides. Shoulda know things would turn out that way."

She smiled weakly, and hugged Wolverine as tightly as her trembling arms allowed. "Thanks, Logan."

"Hank?" said Cyclops.

"All ready done, Scott. I signaled the Blackbird to rendezvous with us the moment Kitty phased us, and kept repeating the signal all the way up. We should see it just about… now!" He point up above the top of the tree line. The Blackbird was swooping into sight, slowing down as it prepared for a vertical landing. The glade was large enough to accommodate its touchdown, its rampway yawning open as it descended.

"Good work, people." Cyclops said with sincerity. "Now let's go before we're up to our necks with skeletons again.

_

* * *

_

_They are gone, master_, moaned a _zalozhiny_. _They flew away, swallowed whole by a great bird of metal._

Koschei hissed, turning away from the messenger and stalking towards his dais, where his son stood waiting for him. The Great Hall swarmed with activity; _zalozhiny_ and ghosts cleaning up the wreckage of battle while the returning _druzhina_ muttered amongst themselves.

Nikolai the Deathless looked closely at his father, noting his wrath, and the frustration that underlay it. "What happened here, father?"

"Do you lack the wits to surmise for yourself, boy?" snapped Koschei. "We were attacked. Those thrice-damned X-Men invaded the Hall. They dared to commit violence against me – _ME_, Koschei the Deathless! By Chernobog and every unholy power ever spawned, how they will suffer when my day comes."

Nikolai eyes narrowed as he watched Koschei hiss and rant in outrage. "How did they even find the Hall? It is warded in dimension, cloaked from all conventional sight."

"The interactions between sorcery and technology are not always predictable," muttered Koschei. "No doubt your… guest… had some infernal device my Art was unprepared for, that allowed those wretched mutants to divine our whereabouts."

Nikolai shook his head. "No, she had no such thing. I made sure of it… The X-Men, they took her?"

Koschei looked up at his son, his cold agate eyes glittering. For a brief moment an expression of resignation flittered across his withered face, and he flexed his free hand, a faint aura of silver light gleaming to life around it. "Yes," he declared.

"Why was I not aware of this? I ordered for Katerina to remain in her chambers. I also laid a ward around them. If someone intruded, I should have been alerted." Koschei did not answer. Nikolai exercised his sorcerous perception. After a moment his golden eyes flared. "It has been tampered with, unraveled enough to allow beings through without them coming to my notice. And how could they find Katerina in the first place, father? How did they circumvent the Charm of Labyrinthine you laid upon our stronghold? I smelled no magic on any of them."

Nikolai's voice had grown low, becoming a rumble of menace. Koschei said nothing. Father and son glared at each other. Around them all activity ceased. Soldier, _kholop_, _druzhina_ - all watched their lords with nervous anticipation. A storm brewed, and they did not know if they would survive its breaking.

Nikolai let out a sharp hiss. "Very well, then. _DANILA!_" His roaring voice boomed throughout the vastness of the Hall. It had barely died when Danila Volkevich stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the Great Hall.

"You summon, I appear. What do you command, Elder Brother?"

Nikolai's gaze remained locked with his father's. "Danila, the _kynazhna _is gone. How is it that you failed the task I appointed you?"

"Not through negligence, Elder Brother. I was overwhelmed."

"By the X-Men?"

"By Solovey Razboynik. With magic he bypassed your ward, and with a fetish he compelled my obedience. He took the Lady Katerina, Elder Brother, and presented her to the Master."

"And what did my father want with her?" Nikolai murmured.

Danila swallowed, whining softly in consternation before answering. "He was going to drown her." He pointed to the icy pool. "The Master had _zalozhiny_ chain her, and they were going to throw her into that water. I… I did what I must to save her, Elder Brother."

Nikolai closed his eyes, breathed deeply through his nose, and began to tremble. "You dare?" he whispered. He raised his hands to his face.

Koschei scowled, drawing his robe close around his emaciated body. "Remember who you speak to, Nikolai. I will not tolerate such a tone from you."

Nikolai began to pull his mask away. "You dare?"

"She was a threat, boy. A threat to you, to me, to everything we have worked for. Would you throw away the dream of empire, just to gratify your lust for a mortal chit?"

Nikolai hurled his mask away. "_YOU DARE?_" he roared, his tattoos burning bright gold, igniting, wreathing his face in _zmei_ fire. He seized by the ermine trimmed collar of his robe and hefted him up off his feet with ease. His free hand pulled back, clenched into a massive fist. But before he could throw his ruinous punch, Koschei thrust his silvered hand into Nikolai's face. For several seconds they struggled against each other in a contest of titanic wills.

And then it was over. Nikolai released Koschei and dropped to his knees, his head lolling back, his face slack, his eyes blank pools of molten silver.

"_Elder Brother!_" howled Danila. He raced towards Koschei, transforming as he ran. But before he reached the sorcerer, Solovey stepped forward and screamed. The sonic wave slammed the young werewolf off his feet, sent him caroming against the near wall and down to the floor. He curled into a ball, his hands clapped tightly over his bleeding ears. Solovey strode to him, drawing his saber. He grabbed Danila by the hair, yanked his head up, and put the saber to his bared throat.

"Wretched brat," Solovey hissed. "I will hang your head in a tree as a warning to all traitors." His armed tensed as he prepared to drag his blade across Danila's throat.

"Stop," commanded Koschei, gesturing with his scepter. Solovey looked up, his predator's eyes incredulous.

"What? Why should I spare the traitor? I owe him for that beating the Pryde bitch gave me."

"You spare him because I command it, Solovey Razboynik. I still have a use for him. Step away." Solovey grit his teeth, rammed Danila's face into the stone floor, then stepped back, sheathing his saber. Koschei walked forward, looming over Danila. The young man shuddered, slowly lifted his head. Agate eyes flared, and Danila screamed as crimson lightning enveloped him. Koschei slashed his hand upward. Danila rose up, his arms stretched out at his sides, hanging crucified in the air, his skin charring, smoking, as chaos lightning scourged his body.

"You will never comprehend how circumstance favors you here and now, boy," said Koschei. "By all rights, I should give you to Solovey – however, my grasp on my darling childe is precarious, and if I kill you, it could grow more so. Thus, I resort to this…" He struck Danila across the face with his free hand. Danila fell hard to the floor, lying sprawled insensate on his back. His golden-hazel eyes were clouded with a film of silver.

Koschei turned to his servants. "Take my son and his vassal back to their chambers. See also that the Grey Wolf's brat is bathed in the Waters of Death. I want them both whole and rested – they will need their strength." _Zalozhiny_ and ghosts bowed to their master. They gently took hold of Nikolai and Danila and began to carry them from the Great Hall. Before they left, Koschei gestured at Nikolai. The satchel on his belt opened, and out of it floated a diamond the size of a young girl's clenched fist. "The Eye of Volos," he sighed. It orbited Koschei, a priceless moon, and he pointed his scepter towards his throne. From behind it arose the Patriarch's Crosier and the Ring of Tsars. Koschei willed them to him, then pointed upward. Ring screwed into the shaft of the Crosier; Eye set itself into the Ring. The new-formed artifact floated down, settling into his free hand.

"At last, after all this time, I have it again," crooned Koschei the Deathless, an unholy joy suffusing his being. "The _Drakhon_ Key…"

* * *

Author's Notes

_Rise from your grave!_

Quotes from fifteen year old video games aside, I really didn't mean to take so long with this chapter of _Deathless_, but a number of things distracted me from the story: writing contests, side projects, romantic revelations, job searches, agony, joy and sundry others. Even more so than chapter six, getting this section of _Deathless_ out was akin to pulling teeth. But finally, it's done. I just wish it hadn't taken eight months to complete.

Anyhow, I make no promises when the next chapter of _Deathless_ will come out. It takes a little time for me to compress, after finishing a story, and the call to write original fiction grows stronger with each passing day. But I will finish _Deathless_. I owe it to all of you who have supported it over the past year.

Hope you don't mind me skipping reader response today. I'm somewhat beat. But thanks to all who commented, whether giving criticism or encouraging me to get the next chapter done.

Thanks all for your time and tolerance.

Jeremy Harper


	14. Chapter 12 The Calm Before

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 12 The Calm Before…

Scott Summers leaned back in his chair, letting out a weighty, weary sigh before sipping from a steaming mug of coffee. He was still in uniform, but had pulled down his hood and removed his battle visor, wearing instead a pair of ruby-quartz safety glasses. He took a second sip, sighed again, this time with appreciation, and set his mug down in a dish on the polished wooden table. "This is good coffee, grandpa," he said with feeling.

Phillip Summers smiled and nodded at his grandson. "Your grandmother certainly brews a mean cup. She grills a good rasher of waffles and bacon, too. Hope you and your friends stay long enough to enjoy it."

"That would be nice." Scott sounded doubtful of the possibility. He sighed for a third time, the fatigue banished by caffeine returning all too quickly. He bowed his head and massaged his temples with forefinger and thumb, his eyes shut, careful not to dislodge his glasses.

"You should get some sleep, Scott. We made up a cot for you in one of the spare rooms."

"I'll try in a few minutes. God knows I could use it." He smiled ironically. "The past few days have been somewhat strenuous." He opened his eyes and looked up at Phillip. "I can't thank you enough, grandpa, for you and grandma putting us up. Anchorage is a lot closer to where we may need to be than Westchester."

Phillip shrugged and waved a hand. "No trouble at all, Scott. That's what families are for. Besides, it's always pleasurable to see you, even if it takes a super-powered threat to get you to come." Both men chuckled. The older Summers' expression then grew serious, and he gave Scott a questioning look. "I'll admit, I'm not sure I quite followed you completely, when you explain what your team is involved in –"

"It is rather convoluted…" Scott agreed.

"- but it doesn't take a genius to see it's serious. I've read enough stories and seen enough news reports to know that many times this world hangs on by a thread. Hell, that madman from the future, Kang, nearly conquered everything last year. Now, I'd like to know if you have a notion on just how bad this is going to get, Scott, just so your grandmother and I can get an idea when or if we should jump for cover."

Scott frowned. "Frankly, grandpa, I don't know, even after hearing Kitty's debriefing. We know Koschei's after the same old song – world conquest. We know he commands enough power to achieve that goal. He may even be pretty damn close to doing so, if the reports we got from Kyoto are accurate – Peter found something in the Imperial Palace, and he and his henchmen left with it before Sunfire or Hero Six could respond. But just what he took, and what Koschei plans to do with it…" Scott shrugged helplessly.

"So prepare for the worst."

"Never hurts to do so."

Phillip frowned deeply. "What are your chances?"

Scott tilted his chair on its rear legs and looked up at the ceiling. "That depends on where Peter stands. Koschei's hold on him is not total. If he's out of this, our chance may be good. If not…" he shrugged a second time. "Again, I don't have enough information to give you an intelligent guess." He settled the chair back down, looked at Phillip, and smiled. "We've been in tighter spots before. We'll find a way."

Phillip chuckled, but there was not much humor to it. "Well, you're confident, to say the least. What about some help? That never hurts, either."

"Hank's working on it."

"Good, good." Both men fell silent for a moment. Phillip coughed. "So, Scott, when you finish this, do you think you and Alex could spare the time to come visit? Deborah and I aren't doing much right now. Just resting up before the holiday shipping season starts."

Scott looked down at his coffee, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. "I don't know, grandpa."

"We miss you two, son – and your father as well. We haven't seen any of you since your last wedding."

"I know, grandpa. I'm sorry about that. So is Alex, I'm sure. It's just… it's just…" Scott sighed gustily, shaking his head before lifting it. "Our lives, by any definition, are crazy. It's like being caught in a perpetual maelstrom, being buffeted back and forth, barely being able to hang on, only brief breaks when its eye passes over you. Alex and I haven't really spoken about it, but I know that neither of us wants you and grandma to get caught in that. There's a good chance you wouldn't survive." Scott smiled sadly. "I worry that if I see you often, I may get one of our enemies thinking that it'd be a good idea to come here to Alaska and kidnap you to get me to blunder into a trap. Or simply kill you just to push my buttons. Hell, maybe we being here right now is making someone think in that direction. I thought long and hard about that, before diverting course to your shipping offices."

Phillip looked at Scott, his eyes eloquent with sympathy, his frown resigned. "That sounds a mite paranoid, son."

"I know it does, but just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you. It's been a fact of my life since I was seventeen." Scott finished his coffee, setting the mug down and pushing it away. "Peter's parents, his little sister Illyana, they got caught in the maelstrom, and were destroyed. That started him down a path of damnation he never escaped. Considering whom I've lost in the past, I'm surprised I'm not on that same path. Maybe I am, and just don't know it yet." His gloved hands clenched in his lap, as a grief he kept tightly contained for over the years seeped from its prison a little. The image of a beautiful, innocent baby boy, forever lost to him, flashed quickly through his mind. The thought of a gorgeous woman with crimson hair, wreathed in golden flame, followed. His arms ached, and a bitter taste welled in his mouth. Scott sighed, sealing this grief behind walls of carefully constructed stoicism. "I'm sorry, grandpa."

"So am I, Scott." Phillip's voice wavered a little, and he looked away. "So am I." He coughed, and drank some of his own coffee.

A little later Scott laid down on a cot in a darkened room, finally having shed his costume and changed into a gray tee-shirt and sweatpants, his hands pillowing the back of his head. He stared at the painted ceiling, tinted red by his glasses, the thoughts and regrets swirling about in his head denying him sleep. He sighed, shook his head, closed his eyes. The room's door open, and he heard soft footsteps approach. Someone sat on the edge of the cot. A slim hand touched his chest. Scott opened his eyes. Emma Frost was looking down at him, her expression thoughtful and attentive.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I've been better." He turned his head away and stared out a window, into the clear and beautiful day. "Emma, have you ever wondered how things would be if our lives resembled something akin to normality?"

Emma smiled. "Sometimes, but I quickly come to my senses. In my opinion normality is highly overrated."

"I'm not quite as certain about that," Scott murmured softly as he closed his eyes.

* * *

Logan knocked quietly, and Kitty's voice answered, giving permission to enter. He opened the door and found her sitting straight up on the guest bedroom's twin-sized bed, dressed in simple sweats, her hands clenched together in her lap and her lips pursed tight, staring intensely at the navy-blue silk gown draped over a chair. Silently Logan walked over and sat next to her, saying nothing, expectant yet patient. She ignored him for a while, her attention rapt on the gown, on the turmoil of her emotions. Finally she sighed, her body losing its ramrod rigidity. She leaned against Logan, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her, patting her gently, giving what paternal comfort he could. 

"I almost found him, Logan," she murmured quietly. "I almost freed him. I could feel it. I was so damn close. If only Koschei hadn't interfered when he did. If only – " Kitty shook her head and chuckled bitterly. "Stupid thing to hope for – of course Koschei was going to interfere. He's not an idiot – how could he not notice what was happening? And what a way to both thwart it and at the same time cement his hold on Peter…" Kitty shivered. "God, if you hadn't come when you did, right at the nick of time –"

"But we did," said Logan. "That's all that matters. Don't think about maybes and what ifs – it'll just rile you up."

Kitty sighed and nodded slightly in agreement. "I know. I'm trying not to, and I think I'll be better soon. I just haven't dealt with how close I came to dying… to worse than dying… and the shock of it hasn't worn off entirely yet. But it will." She smiled without humor. "It's not like I'm a novice at these games of life and death." She stood up and walked over to the window, leaning on the varnished sill and looking out at the Summers vast back yard, and the tree line of great pines and furs beyond, their jagged crowns stretching to touch the flawless white-blue sky. "But you're wrong. Me being safe isn't the only thing that matters – Koschei still has Peter." Logan did not try to refute her claim. He agreed with it. In the hours since they rescued Kitty, Peter's position had not moved – he was still underground at Lake Baikal. Either Koschei held him prisoner or had reasserted his insidious control. Logan would not insult Kitty's intelligence by claiming otherwise.

Kitty shivered, rubbing at her arms to draw back some warmth. "I'm so frightened, Logan," she whispered. "I can't remember the last time I was so scared, and it's not because I'm afraid of dying, or even that Koschei will succeed at whatever he's planning. I'm scared because if we fail, Peter's lost and damned. Koschei will never let him go. Never…"

Logan stood and walked up behind Kitty, looking out over her head, into the wilderness, cool and serene. He could feel it calling to him, tempting him with its austere beauty. He decided that after this was over, he would take a short sabbatical. It had been too long since he last seen the Canadian Rockies. He wondered idly how Jamie and Heather were doing. It had been too long since he had last seen them, as well.

"Being afraid is natural, pun'kin. One of the few guarantees we have in life is that at some point we're going to be afraid. It's inevitable. What matters is how you behave when you're afraid. Some people let their entire lives be ruled by their fear. But I know you well, Kitty. I know that when it comes down to the wire, you ain't gonna let your fear dictate your actions. Won't you, now?"

Kitty looked over her shoulder at Logan. Her face was expressionless for a moment, then a small smile played across her lips, and her golden brown eyes gleamed with determination. "You know I won't."

Logan grinned back. "That's my girl. That flamin' bag of bones ain't gonna know what hit him."

* * *

Hank McCoy paced the Summers' back yard, whistling abstractedly to himself. Above a great bald eagle soared, majestic and regal, winging towards a stream-fed pond located near the property to fish for its supper. Hank watched it for a while as it diminished against the horizon, eventually becoming a speck against the vast blue-white, and disappearing all together. "If only trouble was so easy to evade," Hank sighed. He turned away and walked to the spacious back porch, climbing its stairs and sitting down on the bench next to the back door. His golden eyes closed, and for a few moments he dozed, luxuriating in a brief rest. It was fairly cold, but he did not notice, his fur, mutant physiology and the leather bomber jacket worn over his uniform keeping him comfortable. He awoke, stared down at the varnished wooded planks and his clawed leonoid feet, melancholy welling within him. He reached into his left jacket pocket, withdrew a pair of yin-yang palm balls and began to manipulate them, the simple exercise soothing him. From his right pocket he took a cell phone, flipping it open and on, and autodialed a number he programmed a week ago. It rang four times before being answered. 

"Simon Williams speaking."

"Si, wassup?"

"Hank! Good to hear from you. How are things going? I heard that you caught your man during that fracas in San Francisco."

"Yeah… yeah we did, but things haven't gone so well since." Hank briefly yet concisely of described the events since he last called Simon. After he finished the two friends were silent for a minute.

Simon spoke first. "So what now?"

"Don't know. Peter hasn't made a move yet, though I think it's just a matter of time. We're operating under the assumption that he got the third seed for Koschei, but just what these 'seeds' do exactly we aren't sure. We're on an alert mode right now."

"Give me a half an hour, I can have the Avengers assembled and we'll rendezvous with your team at Lake Baikail. We can take this Koschei out before he gets a chance to put his plans into motion."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Si."

"Hank, from everything you told Koschei is a major threat, and if these artifacts he's gathered are as potent as you believe we could have another damn Kang War on our hands. We can't let him take the initiative."

"I agree with you, but the situation is complicated. We don't know what the hell's going on with Peter, and until we know our hands are tied. Shadowcat thinks it's possible she got through to him. If we make the wrong move, we could lose him."

"Is he really worth the risk?" Simon demanded. "You're gambling with the fate of the world here."

"We gamble with the world every time we go up against a megalomaniac like this, Simon," Hank snapped. "And as an Avenger, how can you ask me something like that? How many times have one of us jeopardized a mission in order to save a friend, or a lover, or a teammate? Since when do the good guys leave theirs behind, or sacrifice them when other options are still available? Things have changed a lot since the first time I put on a costume, but that's one line I'm not going to cross."

Simon didn't say anything for a moment. "I'm sorry, Hank. You're right. It's hypocritical to suggest something like that. And it's not right." He chuckled self-depreciatively. "Maybe I'm becoming a coward again… I still have nightmares, you know, about the time I spent in one of Kang's concentration camps."

"Simon…"

"It's okay Hank. But at least let me tell the Avengers, get them on alert so that we'll be here if you need us, instead of being off somewhere, screwing around in the damn Savage Land or Kree Empire."

Hank grinned. "That I have no problem with. I'll keep you informed on our movements. And don't worry, Si – we'll beat this."

"I know you will. You think you'll get it done by next week? My schedule bumped up a bit, and I should be able to get to New York for a few days then."

"I'll do my level best, friend."

"Great! It isn't any fun bar crawling without my bestest buddy. "

* * *

He reclined back in the malachite throne, sinking deep into cushions of silk, the _Drakhon _Keyacross his knees, gripped tight in bony hands, his agate eyes but glittering slits. Koschei the Deathless stared malevolently at the image floating before him, above the onyx stairs of the dais, conjured from the vast vaults of his memories. It was of a man, tall, muscular and handsome, his blond hair and beard impeccably groomed, dressed in a high quality suit of a cut nearly a century out of fashion. His blue eyes were keen and wise, and he possessed a bearing both noble and benevolent. Koschei glared at the image, and hissed through his rotting teeth. 

"So, Dobrynski, the end has come and all your efforts are for naught. You sought to make me slumber for a thousand years – I broke your enchantment in less than a hundred. And while I slept my spirit searched for secrets in the void, discovering what you feared I would find. You hid the pieces of my _Drakhon_ Key, scattering them across the globe, and I found them all with but two weeks of searching. Only your final defesne remains, my enemy, and I have devised a way to circumvent it. The prophecy the _Rhozanisty_ wove for you will be fulfilled, and your defeat shall be complete, utter and total." Koschei leaned forward, sneering. "Was it worth it, Dobrynski? Spending the lives of your friends, the energies of your life… and for what? That incompetent Nikolai Aleksandrovich was swept away anyhow, despite your efforts. Your fortune was seized, your wife raped and murdered by gutter-born Bolsheviks, and you and your wretched progeny fled in ignoble exile to France, to live on the charity of well-heeled kin. You would have fared better under my reign I think, Dobrynski. Would I have been any worse than Lenin, than Stalin, those other ignorant dogs? By Chernobog no! Under my aegis, the Third Rome would have risen, more glorious and powerful than Old Rome or Constantinople ever were, enduring forever, guided by my wise and undying hand." He raised the _Drakhon _Key and struck the butt of its shaft against the dais. A metallic ring reverberated through the Great Hall. "And it shall still rise. For despite you, Georgi Andreiovich Dobryniski, the hour of my _weird_ is at hand. Nothing will stand in my way. And thus I consign you to the hell of your failure, never to be remembered again." Koschei gestured and the image shattered into a thousand shards of crumbling light, falling to the black stone, fading and vanishing like spent ash. Koschei leaned back in his throne, closing his eyes and resting as he waited for his _druzhina_ to muster. After a brief and dark interval of time, a ghostly voice whispered in his ear. _Master, they are ready_.

Koschei nodded and rose from his throne, opening his eyes to inspect his henchmen. They had formed an orderly row, arrayed and ready for battle. At his far left stood Myedvyed Tsar, master of all bears, pawing and scratching at the polished granite floor with his vicious claws, snorting in anticipation of the violent glories soon to come. On Koschei's right was Vultariax, the great demon called up from the broiling, ever-changing realms of Chaos, a mercenary paid in the souls of the innocent. His serpentine neck swayed, his great wings twitched, their metallic plumage of gold and pastels rattling and clashing. Vultariax hissed, bobbing his dreadful vulture's head as garishly colored bile dribbled from his beak, splattering in smoking drops on the floor, pitting the imperishable stone.

Next to Myedvyed Tsar hovered Misery, a creature even more emaciated in form than Koschei, his sickly, yellow parchment-thin skin seemingly about to split apart and disintegrate, leaving pale long bones naked and exposed. The grotesqueness of his visage was made all the more terrible by his golden hair, so long and bright and beautiful. His stick-thin arms were folded, concealed in the sleeves of his filthy black sackcloth cassock as he waited with an immortal's patience for the will of his liege. By Vultariax, Solovey Razboynik stood at attention, his mouth twisted sardonically. Though handsome where Misery was hideous, the bandit-troubadour was equally monstrous, being a murderer and thief of the foulest repute. Clad in red and black, gold sashes tied across his chest and lean, narrow waist, his saber sheathed at his hip, Solovey laid a hand over his black heart and bowed his head to Koschei in a manner both respectful and insouciant. Solovey knew nothing of fear.

In the center of the row Danila Volkevich paced back and forth restlessly, his form that of a great, shaggy black wolf. White, slick fangs shone in the Hall's torchlight, his large eyes pools of silver. Occasionally Danila would pause and shiver, shaking his head and body as if trying to cast something off. The werewolf noticed Koschei looking at him and sat back on his haunches, a soft whine humming in the depths of his throat.

Finally, before the gathered line of _druzhina_, Nikolai the Deathless awaited his father's word, standing as motionless as an iron statue. He was arrayed for battle, his mighty form clad in a crimson greatcoat and trousers emblazoned with golden serpents and dragons, shod and gloved in hard leather, crowned in steel, broadsword, poniard and throwing axe depending from his sword belt. Behind an impassive mask of gold, shimmering eyes of hard silver stared up at Koschei, loyal and expectant.

Koschei smiled, his face becoming a death's head. Spreading his arms, he began to slowly descend the dais. "The time, my loyal servants, is finally at hand. The long years of waiting will bear fruit ripe and delectable beyond all compare. The rewards I have promised you, vast and bountiful, are to come, for soon I shall swallow my doom, and be forever beyond all woe." The sorcerer reached the floor and strode to Nikolai, the _Drakhon_ Key clanging in time with his step. He lay a wasted hand on Nikolai's broad shoulder. Koschei's son looked down at his father. "Now, Nikolai, my darling childe, you will fulfill the great purpose for which I have wrought you. Your _weird_ and mine are as one." Nikolai nodded once and stepped back from Koschei, pressing his clenched fist to his heart and bowing his head in salute. Koschei turned away, facing the far end of the Hall, his harsh eyes rolling back as he flexed his will and spoke the Word that opened the gate that lead to his final destiny.

* * *

Hank set down his cup of coffee the moment he felt his beeper buzz. He pulled it from his belt, looked at the incoming message, and grimaced. "Time to go, folks," he announced to his teammates gathered around the dinner table, eating the generous meal supplied to them by Deborah Summers. "Peter just jumped." 

"Where to?" asked Kitty.

"If the tracking isn't off, right smack in the middle of the Central Siberian Plateau, right at the edge of the Artic Circle."

"What could he or Koschei possibly want there?" murmured Emma.

"Let's go find them and ask," growled Logan.

Scott wiped his mouth with a napkin before standing up. "Suit up, people. I want us ready for flight in ten minutes." He took a deep breath. "It's past time we finished this."

_

* * *

_

_Author's Notes_

_I'm not dead yet!_

Though, I'm sure, some of you probably thought I was.

So, another six months has passed before I got the next chapter up (the shortest one so far, not counting the two prologues). Hopefully I won't let such a long interval pass again before writing the next chapter, though by saying that I probably guaranteed it so. I don't have much of an excuse, save to plead that Real Life interferes, in ways both bad and good.

Anyhow, we're almost at the end, and I will finish this. I owe _Deathless_ quite a lot, and I intend to pay my debt to this story.

On to reviewer comments:

Valiowik – Thanks for the long and detailed review. I'm glad you've been enjoying _Deathless_ so much, and that it's even having a bit of an influence on you, getting you to reread the _skazi_ and _byliny_, and reshaping your views on a few of the characters. As for your question, while I'm sure Koschei had a good reason for giving Peter the name Nikolai, I frankly don't know it, or remember exactly why I chose that name. Actually, as time has passed, I've been tempted to go back and due some revising, having Peter be called Piotr Black Sun, but have ultimately decided against it (though I have managed to work in that sobriquet, a play on Bright Sun, a title the Tsar is often called in folktales). Lia Fail has pointed out that it may get some readers confused with the mini-series of the same name. Also, I'd lose some of the tension between Peter and Kitty, with her calling him by his true name and he reacting to that in ways he doesn't understand.

myelephantgirl – Thanks for the kudos. Hope this chapter, short as it is, meets up to your expectations.

Amokitty – Your comments are always a treasure, m'dear, and glad that you think so highly of my story to post them. I'll admit, I got a bit of a thrill when you mentioned the Raven Mockers, which I know of through the wonderful stories and novels of Manly Wade Wellman, who used American and Native American myth and legendry to wonderful effect in his fantasies. It's gratifying to know that _Deathless_ compares so favorably to the stories of your heritage, and as a fantasy in general.

No Warlords of Hell will be showing up in this story, but have no fear – interesting things shall be happening in the next chapter. And yes, Solovey definitely deserved what he got from Kitty.

Rift – In antiquity Russians use to divide non-Slavic Europeans into two categories – anyone from Germany or west of Germany was called a German, and anyone from the Mediterranean was a Latin. They used these terms no matter what country a visitor hailed from. The foreign quarter in Medieval Moscow and other major cities were referred to as the German Quarter, even though traders from England, France and other countries could be just as numerous as any German merchants. Thus why Solovey called Kitty a German – though if he had known of her religion, he would have called her a Jew instead. As for your second question, Solovey possesses a low level of superhuman strength, endurance and damage resistance. He also has access to healing magic (The Water of Death), which speeds up the resting time of the wounded _druzhina_ considerably.

Kitty Rasputin – Premonitions. Cool.:) No Soul Sword in this story, though perhaps I'll deal with it in a future one, if I ever get the time.

Madripoor Rose – Like I said, I ain't dead yet. Nor have I left the fandom. Just some Real Life events interfering. Also, the urge to concentrate on original fiction is growing stronger every day. But don't worry; I will finish _Deathless_, at the very least.

enigmagirl2727 – _Deathless_ will not fade away. I will finish it, though it may take me some time. But I'm happy that you've enjoyed the ride so far, and hope you enjoyed this new chapter, as brief as it is.

Many thanks also to everyone who commented on Treachery Part 2.

Next up – some time off for original fiction, then Chapter 13 – To Slay. All comments are welcome, while flamers will be consigned to the House of Leaves.

Thank you for your time and tolerance,

Jeremy Harper


	15. Chapter 13 To Slay

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

Chapter 13 – To Slay

A golden light erupted, pushing back the murk of early dawn and illuminating the sere, snow-covered clearing. A twisting column of flame snaked high into the air, writhing and crackling as monsters emerged from its infernal heart: Myedvyed Tsar; Misery; Vultariax; Solovey Razboynik – each wreathed in fire that did not burn, which smoked and guttered and died in the cold, crisp air of the taiga. Next came Danila Volkevich, still in wolf's shape, his eyes flashing red, exhaling sparks and black fumes, momentarily transformed by the method of his teleportation into a hound of Hell. After Volkevich, Nikolai the Deathless manifested, seeming like some great demon Prince clad in crimson and gold, haloed by the tatters of a sorcerous inferno. Finally, dwarfed by his son, yet no less ominous, stepped Koschei the Deathless, his black caftan of rotting silk pulled tight around his skeletal form, an ermine cap encircled by a band of gold crowning his head, the _Drakhon Key_ clutched in his gnarled and bony hand. As he set foot on Siberian soil the column of fire collapsed and vanished, leaving only a slight mark of melted snow and burnt earth.

Koschei's nostrils flared wide as he inhaled deeply, taking in as much clean air as he could. He looked around, staring up at the lightening sky, the rising sun staining it a ruddy gold to the east, darkness still holding mastery in the west. He looked at the trees ringing the mile wide clearing – tall firs and crooked larches, their needles a rich and healthy bluish-green. Koschei sighed, then laughed, reveling in the sensations offered by his surroundings. For the first time in nearly a century he enjoyed the freedom of the open country… a country that would soon be his, totally and utterly. He turned to his followers, rotting teeth bared in a grin of predatory anticipation.

"Now, my faithful _druzhina_," he whispered. "Now you will see a miracle wrought, and a prophecy fulfilled." He gestured with his free hand and the _druzhina_ assembled around him. Still grinning, Koschei looked up at Nikolai, standing at his right. The Great Prince of the Earth gazed out to the west, motionless, his silver eyes shining bright beneath his golden mask. "Are you ready, Nikolai, my darling childe?"

"Yes, father," Nikolai answered, his reply a ghost of sound.

"Then I begin." Koschei inhaled again, held it for a moment, and then exhaled in a great gust. Facing west, he raised the _Drakhon Key_, its precious metal gleaming in his hand. The Eye of Volos began to glow as sunlight poured through its faceted depths. "Centuries past I bound you, caging thee in a prison imperishable," Koschei murmured. "Now with this key I free you. Heed my call – rise from the embrace of Damp Mother Earth and bring to me what I seek, oh Great Guardian!" Koschei uttered a Word of Power; crimson lighting sprang to life, wreathing the _Key_ in coruscating bands. Like the fingers of devils the energy raced up the silver shaft of the Patriarch's Crosier, danced the circuit of the Ring of Tsars, finally plunging into the Eye of Volos, bloodying the diamond and corrupting it with Koschei's deathless will. The Eye pulsed once, twice, three times. Koschei hissed as he exerted his might. The _Drakhon Key_ bucked in his grasp, trying to fight its way free. He gripped it with both hands, desperate to hold it steady while lifting it higher, directly above his head, and then spoke a second Word. The Eye throbbed and shuddered one final time before throwing out a scintillating ray of light, lancing out to strike and scorch the far end of the clearing. With a great heaving groan Koschei threw the _Key_ to the ground. It landed with a dull thud and lay smoldering in the snow.

For a moment nothing happened, but swiftly all in the clearing noticed the silence that had fallen, total and complete, as if the entire world held its breath. Then the earthquake struck, tectonic forces clashing deep beneath the feet of Koschei and his _druzhina_. The ground rippled like the surface of a lake as it screamed in agony, the grinding rumble of straining, shattering earth growing louder by the second. Koschei muttered a cantrip and casually waved his hand; disks of energy crackled into existence beneath the sorcerer and his followers, raising them into the air, away from the escalating violence. All of them watched the clearing's western end as the ground there buckled then heaved then exploded as something massive burst forth from it, climbing out of the earth with ear-splitting, jangling shrieks, uprooting trees and blasting stones to dust. A jagged spire of glass thrust upward, growing taller and wider in the midst of devastation with each passing second. Finally the cataclysm ceased; the earth quelled, silence returned, and a mountain of raw glass a half-mile high and a thousand feet thick now dominated the clearing, near blinding in the radiance it threw off as sunlight shone upon it. It was not entirely pellucid, its surface frosted and imperfections twisting its interior, yet something could be discerned at the center of its base – something huge and dark and sinister, a poisonous yoke encased in translucent eggshell.

Koschei dismissed the force supporting him and his followers, returning to the earth. The ancient sorcerer was grinning madly, his hands shaking slightly and his agate eyes burning. Nikolai stood stoically next to him, muscular arms folded across his broad chest. The other _druzhina_ waited behind, shifting uneasily. Even Solovey seemed slightly unnerved, his left hand clutching his saber's hilt, his right hand clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Koschei licked blackened lips with his narrow gray tongue, and whispered two words: "Come forth."

The side of the glass mountain exploded in a violent rain of crystalline shards that melted and evaporated before touching ground. From this freshly opened wound something roared, its cry terrible and malign. The great darkness in the mountain's heart surged, blackness sluing forth, emerging into the open, its presence besmirching the natural world. First its heads, three of them, a terrible amalgamation of snake and wolf, fringed with manes and beards of filthy black hair, crowned with twin horns of yellowing ivory that swept back from their slanting skulls. Then came its necks, golden-scaled, massive, yards and yards long, swaying serpentine as it dragged out its enormous body, sleek and muscular, brimming with physical power almost beyond mortal comprehension, supported by sinuous arms and claws bearing talons twice the size of the largest man. Finally came its tails, seven in all – thick as poplars, supple as whips, flailing the ground with bone-shaking violence. The abomination crawled fully out of its glass prison and heaved up on hind legs, serpent-wolf heads vomiting venom and hellfire as golden wings large enough to blot out the sun crackled and unfurled from its armored back.

Koschei the Deathless laughed with terrible joy, throwing his thin arms out in a gesture of welcome. "Greetings to thee, oh Great Mother of Calamities! Greetings to thee, Most Dread Scion of Hell! Greetings to thee, Gorynytch Grozny, Gorynytch the Terrible, Mighty Queen of _Zmei!_"

Gorynytch stopped bellowing her rage, her mouths clamping shut and her heads snapping in the direction of Koschei. Six red-gold eyes flared, their slit ebon pupils dilating in surprise, then narrowing with hatred. She dropped down with monstrous grace on her foreclaws, making the ground tremble. "**_KOSCHEI!_**" She cried out in treble, each hissing, howling voice a fraction of a second out of synch with the others, creating an echoing discord that resonated terribly within those who heard her, making them feel as if long, filthy claws scraped along their insides. "You miserable leavings of worms! You have the audacity to drag your devil-gnawed carcass before my presence, after your treacherous crime?"

Koschei merely grinned. "Your lack of gratitude is appalling, oh Mighty Harbinger of Armageddon. Have you forgotten so soon who sewed you back together, who fed your cold, still corpse the Waters of Death and Life, returning you to the Living World, after Dobrynya Nikitich hewed you apart with his seven fold silken whip?"

Gorynytch snorted, billowing sulfurous fire and snot from her muzzles. "No, sorcerer, I have not forgotten. But neither have I forgotten what you sewed into my corpse before awaking me from the Long Sleep." She raised a claw and dragged talons across her scaled breast, sparks leaping from the friction. "I can feel it, beating in time with my heart, pressing against it, galling me like some diseased pustule. But worse yet, after returning me from Hell, you imprisoned me in the thrice damned Mountain of Glass!" The _zmei's _voices pitched upwards into throaty screams. "A thousand years, Koschei! A thousand years trapped motionless yet awake, feeling the monotonous, unceasing whip of time flay my consciousness. Time passes no swifter for the immortal than it does for the mortal. Chernobog himself could not have devised a greater torment! And you wonder why I bear you no love, Koschei?"

"No, Gorynytch, I wonder not," answered Koschei sardonically. "Your arguments are plain. In truth, I committed a great injustice, charging you with a task you had no desire for. Perhaps then, oh Fearsome Serpent of Perdition, it shall please you to know that I have freed you so to relieve you of what burdens your body and soul."

The _zmei_ grew very still, her half-dozen eyes narrowing as she regarded the grinning lich and his entourage. Her fore-claws dug into the earth, and her sides heaved liked bellows as her noisome breath rasped through cavernous nostrils. "The only way to do so… is to slay me." Koschei's grin widened, and he nodded. "You want… _it_… back?" He nodded a second time. "Why?" she demanded.

"Would my reasons matter to you, _zmei_? I desire it, and what I desire I take. That is all you need to know."

Gorynytch closed her eyes and began to tremble, slightly at first, but quickly becoming more violent. She reared back her three heads, opened her jaws, and began to laugh. Her terrible mirth resounded through the clearing, making the trees shake and twists, breaking boughs and sending them crashing down in showers of powder. The _druzhina_ flinched back, discomforted by the deafening waves of evil laughter. Only Koschei and Nikolai seemed unaffected, father and son standing calm and resolute. Gorynytch's laughter quieted to rumbling chuckles and then ceased altogether, save for a purring hiss skirling in the back of her throats.

"Think me facetious, Gorynytch Grozny?" asked Koschei.

"Not facetious, sorcerer – merely futile." The _zmei's_ eyes opened and she lowered her heads down close to the ground, bringing them to level with Koschei. "_Impotent_," she growled nastily. "I am far beyond your reach, oh Koschei the Deathless… Koschei the Fool…"

"You think so?"

"I **_know_** so. And thus knowing has made the passing of the last century almost bearable… possessing the knowledge that once freed I would be beyond all harm, invulnerable and invincible, and that nothing in Russia… in the entire world… would be able to thwart the devastation I would bring to it! I heard voices, Koschei. They whispered truth to me."

Koschei spat. "Feh. Your millennia of imprisonment addled your wits, _zmei_. Voices indeed… what fables did your dementia weave for you, Gorynytch? It would amuse me to hear them."

"Do not patronize me, sorcerer!" screamed Gorynytch, emphasizing her wrath with gouts of hellfire. "Think you the only power to walk the Thrice-Nine Lands and the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom, you rotting remains of a syphilitic whoremonger? Do you want to know who spoke to me, before I tear you to shreds? Before I toss your empty skull into the trees for the ravens to peck at? It was the _Rhozanisty_, Koschei. The Great Fates to whom even Belobog and Chernobog must bow."

Koschei canted his head slightly, his expression still mocking. "The _Rhozanisty_, you say?"

"Yes, you smirking dog! Their voices were unmistakable – dulcet as silver, strong as the iron bands of Hell. They whispered prophecy to me… in this life, my new life, only one can slay me forever – a twice born man. A being, which in his first life was no man, and who in his second life, is a dragon that is no dragon. Only this impossible creature can kill me. All other foes will fall before me, perishing beneath my claws and my fangs and my hellfire!" Her voices rose to a triumphant shriek as Gorynytch pushed herself up, standing tall on her hind legs and breathing fire. Above the sky wavered and the sun paled, seeming to falter in its ascent.

Koschei continued to grin, unperturbed by Gorynytch's boasting and show of might. "You think yourself invincible, oh Daughter of Devils?" He called out.

"I **_KNOW_** I am, damn you!" she roared back.

"Then let us put your belief to the test."

Gorynytch made to speak again, but hesitated, checking her wrath. Her jaws snapped shut and her baleful red-gold eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then flared open, blazing with sudden comprehension. "You knew what the _Rhozanisty_ wove. Damn you, you knew before you freed me!"

"Yes," admitted Koschei. "I did."

Gorynytch dropped down on all four claws. Her necks began to sway violently, her heads darting here and there as she gave each of the _druzhina_ a long, searching glare. Her seven tails writhed and smote the snow-covered earth with escalating violence.

"I see here the father of all bears," her right head hissed.

"And I see the great, grasping burden of all mortal-kind," her central head added, its piercing stare locked on Misery.

"And there stands a demon of Chaos, whistled down from the Maelstrom of Impossibility," said her left head.

"I recognize Nightingale the Throat-Slitter, sworn foe of accursed Muromets," rumbled the right head.

"And in this puppy I smell the blood of the Great Gray Wolf," the left called out in antiphon.

"But this man here," Gorynytch's central head whispered menacingly. "This man besides you, I do not recognize. I have never seen him before, nor smelled his like…" Gorynytch threw back her heads, her necks arching like the stingers of scorpions. Venom, sulfur and hellfire jetted from her mouths and nostrils as the great _zmei's_ three voices screamed as one: "Who is he, Koschei? Who? _Who_? **_WHO_**?"

"Who, this?" asked Koschei, stepping to one side and gesturing at his warlord. Nikolai unfolded his arms, letting his hands fall to the hilts of his weapons, cricking his neck. His silver eyes shone brightly behind his mask of gold. "This is Nikolai, my son, my darling childe – the product of my matchless craft. He is a man twice born, once from a womb of flesh, and then again, from a womb of crystal. In his past life he was not a man, but a mutant, something far greater than any mortal. In his veins flows the blood of the great dragons of hell. He is Nikolai Black Sun, Deathless and Matchless, my warlord and heir, and facilitator of my rightful destiny. And thus I, Koschei the Deathless, fulfill prophecy!" The sorcerer spun towards Nikolai. _"Slay her, my son, and cut forth what is rightfully mine!"_ Nikolai obeyed, charging forward, drawing his sword and poniard, the blades singing free of their scabbards. He crouched and sprang into the air, hurtling like a crimson thunderbolt at the great dragon.

"I defy my _weird_!" screamed Gorynytch, her voices crescendoing into a shriek that could shatter a mountainside. Earth shuddered, air shimmered, and she vomited forth an inferno to consume her foe. Nikolai slashed out with his poniard, the air cracking as he cut a path through the hellfire, and then upon reaching her struck the _zmei_ across her central head's snout with his sword. Lambent ichor and flame spumed from the wound as Gorynytch howled in pain. Nikolai somersaulted backwards and down, landing with inhuman grace and charging forward on foot, then leaping back to avoid the swipe of a massive claw. Gorynytch continued to howl, pain becoming fury, and propelled her wolfish heads at her foe. Nikolai struck aside her right head with the pommel of his poniard, parried the fangs of her left with the flat of his sword, then her central head came down on him from above, too fast for him to react against, and her filthy maw seized him by the right arm and shoulder, yard long fangs piercing his flesh. Gorynytch lifted Nikolai from the ground, shaking him violently so to mangle his body, then threw him over her back, golden blood and fire trailing in his wake. He crashed hard into the side of the glass mountain, above the massive borehole, and plummeted hard to the earth in a shower of ragged crystal. By some miracle he had managed to hold on to his weapons while the _zmei_ rended him, but they jarred out of his hands upon impact with the ground. His body spouting hellfire as it knitted itself back together, he pushed himself up, groping blindly for the hilts of his blades, but before he could take them back up Gorynytch slammed into him, grabbing him in a massive claw, pinning his arms to his sides, lifting off his feet again and ramming him against the mountain. Nikolai groaned in pain. Gorynytch struck him against the mountainside twice more, then held him against it as she tightened her grip. Laughing dreadfully, she opened her stinking maws; three gouts of hellfire gushed forth to envelop her trapped foe.

Nikolai screamed. Neither his raiment nor his body burned, but hellfire assaulted more than the physical form – it attacked the soul as well. He could feel his spirit, his essential self, begin to shrivel and char. To withstand more of this punish would be to court a destruction far more final than mere physical death. He struggled in Gorynytch's claw, forcing his arms away from his body, calling upon strength unrivaled within the Thrice-Nine Lands. He screamed again, this time in exertion as he tested his might against the great _zmei_ as holocaust sought to consume him. A sharp crack snapped out over the cacophony; Nikolai roared in triumph as he broke Gorynytch's hold and dropped to the ground. The hell-dragon reeled back in surprise, ceasing her fiery exhalations as she again shrieked in pain – he had broken three of her squamous claws.

Nikolai landed in a crouch and then sprang forward, coming into close quarters with his enemy. His arm blurred as he punched her square on her golden breast, his blow thunderous. Gorynytch gasped, her necks writhing. He struck again, cracking scales harder than any mortal armor with but his leather gauntleted fist, blood spitting and oozing from the slivers stabbing into draconic flesh. Nikolai struck a third time with an uppercut. Gorynytch hurled up and backwards into the air, lifted by the impossible force of the blow, tumbling heads over tails and crashing on her back, causing another tremor to wrack the tortured clearing. Nikolai drew his throwing axe from his belt, sighting with his free arm, and when the _zmei_ regained her feet and snaked around to face him threw it, striking the side of her left head just behind the joint of her jaw. Gorynytch howled, and under her pain and rage Nikolai could discern a note of fear, muted but poignant, seeping into her monstrous voice. He gestured towards his blades and at his silent command weapons leapt loyally into his hands. Striking them together, Nikolai rushed the dragon of hell, a fierce joy singing through his mind and soul.

* * *

High above the Central Siberian Plateau, the Blackbird circled in stealth mode, its passengers observing the battle raging below via high-powered surveillance augmented with Shiar technology. 

"My God…" whispered Emma Frost in awe.

Wolverine grunted in agreement. "Now that's one hell of a scrap – looks like a dress rehearsal for Doomsday."

"Sorta reminds me of one of my favorite movies back in my days as an Avenger – _Godzilla Eats A Disco._ It starts off with all this Japanese teenagers grooving in a discotheque, then King Ghidrah flies down from outer space, then Godzilla makes an appearance, and then… well, I'll tell you later…" Beast trailed off, his humor evaporating as he struggled to comprehend the scope of the power being exercised on the ground below.

"I didn't know what to expect when we caught up with Koschei and Peter," Cyclops murmured, "but I don't think I'd have guessed a scenario like this in a thousand years." He looked over his shoulder at the youngest X-Man present. "Shadowcat, I need an assessment."

Shadowcat did not seem to hear the order. She stared at the monitor, entranced by the battle, her brow furrowed in worry and thought. "That's a _zmei_," she muttered, shaking her head. "That means… but why would Koschei have Peter fighting it? Why would he want it-" Her eyes widened as epiphany struck. "No… it couldn't be… but… it's the only reason that makes this make sense. Oh God…"

"Shadowcat!" Cyclops snapped. She shook her head sharply and looked around at her teammates, her face paling. "I know what Koschei is after."

"What is it, Pryde?" asked Frost. Shadowcat took a breath, licking her lips before making her explanation.

"Koschei is known as the Deathless - the Undying One - but he isn't a true immortal. In the stories concerning him, it's told that Koschei somehow captured his death in a golden egg. That way he couldn't ever be harmed. However, if someone got hold of the egg, he'd become vulnerable, his magic draining out of him, and if the egg were struck against his forehead, he'd perish. So Koschei would take great pains to conceal it. The details would vary from story to story, but one of his favorite tricks was to place the egg in the body of a _zmei_ – a Russian dragon – just like the thing Peter is fighting."

No one said anything for a moment, digesting Kitty's explanation. "If you're theory is correct, Kitty," began Beast slowly, "then why is Koschei trying to get it back? If Peter hadn't led us here, we wouldn't have a clue where to look for it. Why is Koschei risking this?"

"When I was his… guest… in Koschei's Hall, Peter mentioned something about Koschei 'swallowing his doom, putting himself beyond all woe'. He was coy about it, and wouldn't say anything else." Shadowcat stared at the monitor, her lips pursing tight. "What if Koschei has found or invented a way to become a true immortal, and to do so needed possession of his death?" She glanced around at her teammates. "Imagine, on top of becoming truly immortal, he gains back the portion of magic he used to bind his death in the first place. He's all ready powerful now… what sort of effort will it take to stop him if my theory is correct – if he even _could_ be stopped?"

"But why Peter?" asked Cyclops. "What does he need him for?"

"Peter hinted at that too. He told me he was the only one who could deliver Koschei's doom to him safely. Perhaps there's a condition… a geas… that needs to be satisfied in order to slay the _zmei_ that only Peter can fulfill." She bit her lower lip as she cogitated. "We're not the first to fight against Koschei – maybe someone cast some sort of charm on the _zmei_ to keep Koschei from retaking his death directly. From what you and Emma told me earlier, Dobrynski and his coterie had some magic on their side." She shook her head sharply. "But that doesn't matter now – it's all academic. The only thing I'm certain of is that we need to get Koschei's death if we're to finish this." She looked at Cyclops. "Any ideas, boss?"

Cyclops nodded. "Yes – we play jackal. Let Peter fight this dragon, then swoop in, steal Koschei's death, and smash in his skull with it."

"A plan elegant in its simplicity," murmured Beast. "I approve."

"I don't know if I do," said Frost. "Even taking this dragon out of the equation, going up against Koschei, Peter and their henchmen? Those are long odds."

"Scared, Frost?" asked Wolverine.

"Merely stating the realities, Logan."

"The odds may not be that long," interjected Shadowcat. "In some of the _skazi_, Koschei's powers wane when he's in close proximity with his death. Also –" she glanced at the monitor, winced, and turned her face away, closing her eyes tight. "I don't think Peter's going to be in the best of shape to fight us," she finished in a pained whisper.

"He doesn't lack guts," said Wolverine, watching the battle unfold below. "At least that much o' him has stayed the same."

"All right people, any other comments or suggestions?" asked Cyclops. No one spoke. "Get ready then, I'm taking us down."

* * *

Nikolai Black Sun grappled Gorynytch's right head, his left arm wrapped around the titanic breadth of its neck, his poniard buried in her to the hilt, striving hard to keep her pinned. Gorynytch raged against his might, trying to drag herself free, her neck arching sinuously in an effort to lift him up and throw him off of her, yet despite her draconic strength he remained on the ground. Nikolai raised his stained broadsword, steel and golden ichor glittering in the light of the rising sun, and struck, the blade descending in a butcher's arc and biting deep, sundering the scales, cleaving muscle and sinew, blood and fire pluming from the wound. Gorynytch screamed, redoubling her escape attempts. Her other two heads stabbed down at Nikolai. Without turning he struck them aside with his sword and chopped again. Gorynytch's cries grew higher in pitch; blood and venom gushed from her nostrils and mouth. Nikolai yanked his sword free with a grunt and slashed down a third time, finally severing her head. The dragon, now freed, reeled backwards, howling in excruciating agony. Nikolai threw aside his grisly trophy – its jaws snapping spasmodically in the bloodied snow, its baleful eyes rolling wildly. He advanced on his enemy, eager to finish her, feeling neither pain from his many wounds, nor fatigue from his epic exertions. She attacked first, her central head lashing down. He dodged to his right, ran in close and crouched, uttering a Word of Power. Golden-white light gleamed through the tatters of his greatcoat. Seizing his sword double-handed, he jumped, launching up like a thunderbolt returning to heaven. The blade flashed and blurred, and as he shot higher Gorynytch's left head tumbled to earth with a rain of gore. 

Nikolai's ascent slowed, and he looked down, watching Gorynytch scream and writhe, pain driving out all coherent thought from her consciousness. He shifted his position, reversing his blade for a stab. He felt a strange detachment seep into his awareness. Something empty and hungering opened in his soul, asking for a fulfillment he could not begin to comprehend. _My purpose is finished…_ _What is left for me now?_ His eyes momentarily brightened to gold, then darkened to blue, before reverting back to silver. The commands of his father ruled his deed and thought. Now to accomplish the goal for which he had been made. His ascent stopped, and for seconds he hung suspended in the air, denying gravity's purchase. His eyes flashed and golden fire wreathed his body. "**_GORYNYTCH! DIE!_**" He plummeted, striking the _zmei_ on her central head, driving his sword through her skull, into her brain, the point thrusting out from her throat, the force of his killing stroke blasting the dragon down with a temblor's shock.

Nothing moved in the clearing, and silence, pregnant with portent, covered all. A tremor ran through the carcass of dead Gorynytch; black brains and golden blood oozed from the ruined brainpan of her impaled head. With a grunt Nikolai wrenched his sword free and clambered down off the _zmei_. He turned to face his vanquished foe, surveying her still form with wonder. He had completed the task for which he had been made, and, despite having done so, could hardly believe he survived. He stretched tired arms out from his sides and looked up into the sky. Golden light rippled about his body, and then, as he roared out his cry of triumph, a pillar of flame enveloped him. With that conflagration of sorcerous fire his wounds sealed and knitted all at once, and when it died down he emerged into the cold morning air with his body wholly healed, his notched blades and tattered clothes cleansed of gore. Nikolai let out a sigh, then fell, toppling onto his back as weariness overwhelmed him. He lay still in the snow, weapons loosely grasped, his breathing heavy and sharp behind his mask.

Koschei the Deathless laughed, clapping in admiration, lifting a bony hand in salute. "Excellent, my son. You have fulfilled and surpassed all my expectations. But your task is not finished. One duty remains. Arise, Nikolai, my darling childe! There will time enough for rest once destiny has been fulfilled."

Nikolai shuddered. Laboriously he sat up, rolled onto his knees, sheathing his poniard and using his broadsword as a brace to rise to his feet. He slipped once, nearly falling on his face, before standing upright, swaying drunkenly. He looked at Koschei, his shoulders and chest heaving slowly, before turning away and staggering to Gorynytch's corpse. He approached its side, set hands against it, and rolled it onto its back. He slipped to one knee, gasping as fatigue crushed down across his body. He kneeled for a while, catching is breath and trying not to succumb to the illimitable void clawing at him. He gripped his broadsword with both hands, levered himself up, and jumped up onto Gorynytch's carcass. He swayed momentarily before finding his footing, and proceeded to cut open the corpse's chest. It was slow, filthy work, made all the more difficult by his weariness. Golden ichor bubbled and smoked, and he notched his blade on her steel ribs as he hacked them apart. Having judged the incision large enough for his purpose, Nikolai dropped to one knee and thrust his arm into it, groping about the _zmei's_ chest cavity. He winced behind his mask, hissing in discomfort caused by her venomous blood. His fingers traced the contours of Gorynytch's black, misshapen heart, and found something small and hard nestled against it. He seized it, pulled it free and stood up, holding his prize up in the air, his gore-stained arm flamed, burning away the ichor coating it. In his hand he held an egg the width of his palm, wrought from a dull gold that did not glitter. Indeed, the sunlight seemed to shirk from it, making it look as if cloaked in gloom.

"_My death_," hissed Koschei, reaching out with grasping hands. He trembled at the sight of it, as fear and exultation seethed within him. How perilous this moment was – he could feel his control of his magics diminish as the golden egg began to pulse like a heart. "Quickly, my childe, give it here. The ritual I must use takes but a minute, but we must not delay." The wizard licked his blacked lips in anticipation. "Soon, oh very soon… the world is ours."

Nikolai stared at his father almost stupidly before comprehending his order. Egg still held high, he turned and lurched forward. And then a beam of lambent ruby energy came shrieking over the heads of Koschei and the _druzina_, striking Nikolai's hand. He shouted in pain and lost his grasp on the egg; it flew high in the air. Koschei screamed, long forgotten agony wracking his desiccated body. A second beam followed, shooting past Nikolai to strike the glass mountain, rebounding off its cracked surface and hitting the egg in mid-flight, diverting its course and propelling it back towards Nikolai. Koschei screamed again, falling on his face and writhing. The egg hurtled high above him and the _druzina_, too fast for them to react. It landed far away, rolling in the snow, and as they turned they saw the X-Men charging across the clearing, racing to claim Koschei's death. "_NO_!" screamed Koschei, and then roared out a spell. A wall of crimson hell fire burst from the ground, checking the X-Men's advance. He could not maintain the sorcery, for the exposure and abuse of his death had weakened him; all ready the wall began to gutter. Solovey and Myedvyed Tsar rushed forward to reclaim the egg, but were forced back by an optic blast scything through the fire. The wall collapsed and extinguished, though the residual heat held the X-Men back. Koschei heaved himself up and wheeled towards Nikolai. "My son, crush these fools, once and for all!"

Nikolai nodded, lurching forward and preparing to leap at his enemies, but then froze, a soft gasp whispering behind his mask. Shadowcat stood before her teammates, phased and floating in the air. Her golden-brown eyes, bright with emotion, bore into his silver ones, and her face was imploring. She held out a hand to him, and she called out his true name. "Peter…"

Nikolai rocked backed on his heels and groaned. The void within his soul opened wider, demanding fulfillment. Something pressed at the edge of his awareness, urgent and forceful, demanding audience with his conscious thought.

"Nikolai! Obey your father – slay my enemies!" screamed Koschei.

"Peter…" Shadowcat called out again, her voice soft, gentle, piercing Nikolai to his very core. He threw back his head and howled, conflicting demands of two lives battling within him. He crouched and leapt, arcing high above all and landing away from both Koschei and the X-Men. He turned to face both, dropped to one knee, planted his sword into the cold earth and leaned upon it. His eyes tarnished to jet-black, and he kneeled motionless in the snow.

Koschei stared at his catatonic son, disbelief bright in his cruel agate eyes. He whirled, facing the X-Men, chaos lightning crackling over his form as his wrath ignited. "You meddling bitch!" he cried at Shadowcat. "You have destroyed him! My greatest creation… you have subverted my son, turned him into a mindless ruin!"

Shadowcat returned to the ground and glared at Koschei, returning his anger and hate in full measure. "You mean I broke the chains that made him your slave, Koschei! And he is _not_ your son, was _never_ your son!"

"This ends here, Koschei," called Cyclops, as he and the rest of the X-Men stepped up to join Shadowcat, forming a battle line and facing off against Koschei's _druzina_.

Koschei nodded in agreement. "You are right, mortal," he rasped. "It will end here, but it will not be the finish you hope for." He raised a hand and took a deep breath, willing himself not to shudder. His sorcerous might was bleeding rapidly from his soul. If his death stayed out of his hands much longer he would soon be helpless, and with his enemies so close to it he was in intolerable peril. A shimmering sphere of translucent scarlet light surrounded him, then collapsed like a pricked bladder, the energy wrapping around him, covering his aged parchment colored skin with a murky, crimson film. This spell would shield him from the sympathetic effects that would occur when his death was handled, keeping him from being pain-wracked and thrown about like a rag doll, but it would take all his concentration to maintain it. "_Druzina_," he whispered as he pulled at his caftan, "I have not labored so long and so hard to be thwarted in the endgame. Slay my enemies, and the world will be yours. Solovey, ten times your weight in gold and gems, and a harem of women, drawn from goddesses from the four corners of the earth. Myedvyd Tsar, Danila, mastery of world's forests. Misery, to you an entire city of _kholops_ upon which to gratify your black urges. Vultariax, a million souls I pledge, to send screaming in blood and torment to the hungry Void of Chaos where your progenitors dwell. All this and more will be yours… _JUST BRING ME MY DEATH!_"

Solovey leered at Koschei, bowing sinuously and drawing his saber. "With the greatest pleasure we obey your dread command, oh Koschei the Deathless."

Across the field Cyclops adjusted his visor. "No mercy, no quarter, X-Men. Get Koschei's death, and finish him with it, no matter what the cost."

Wolverine grinned. Adamantium claws hissed from bionic housings. "Let's show these suckers what we do best."

Solovey moved first, sprinting gracefully across the snow, whistling up a backwind to augment his speed, nearly succeeding in taking the egg before the X-Men could react. Cyclops, spearheading his team's charge, opened fire with a continuous optic blast. Solovey parried it with his saber, but was checked, sliding to a halt and gradually being forced back. The bandit-troubadour struggled against the pure force, exerting his more than human strength, but Cyclops's solar-fueled power was implacable. Snarling out with murderous rage, Solovey spat out a quick sonic bolt just as his enemy narrowed the width of his beam. It slipped past Solovey's guard, striking him in the head and flipping him over face first to the ground. The sonic bolt struck Cyclops in the chest, throwing him down and stunning him. As Solovey struggled to right himself and clear his mind of pain, Myedvyd Tsar leapt over his prone body, roaring wildly, froth billowing from his muzzle. He made straight for the golden egg, and just when he was about to snatch it up in his jaws Frost, glittering in her diamond changeform, crashed into him, hammering him on the top of his flat skull with a two handed hammer blow. They struggled, and the egg was kicked away. Koschei groaned, pain seeping through his shield, but grinned through his discomfort as he watched Vultariax flying towards his death, the chaos demon's multi-hued wings clashing and clanging like a change of discordant bells.

"Hank! Fastball!" shouted Wolverine. Beast complied and threw the Canadian berserker at Vultariax with all his prodigious might. Wolverine hit his target hard, raking the demon along the side of his face, then stabbing him in the neck. Vultariax screamed and reeled, falling on his back. Wolverine crouched on his chest and hacked at it, rending Vultariax's metallic flesh. The chaos demon screamed again and swatted Wolverine off with a claw, sending him flying, then rose up and vomited forth a Technicolor blast of chaos ichor. Wolverine rolled out of its way and kipped to his feet. Vultariax screamed a third time and threw himself at his enemy, all thought of Koschei's pledge overwhelmed by his desire to tear apart the miserable mortal creature that had nearly slew him not long ago. Neither noticed Danila in his wolf form skirt around them and run for the prize they fought and bled for.

But the Beast did. He hurled himself at the werewolf, caught him in a wrestler's hold and threw him back. Danila somersaulted, his body warping and molding, and landed gracefully in his wolfen shape. Feline and canine glared at each other, golden eyes with slit pupils boring into eyes of blank silver. With a mutual howl they attacked, a clash of raw animal fury.

Misery arose, phasing up through the ground and taking up Koschei's death in emaciated hands. He floated up into the air, turning towards his master and flying to him, propelled by his will. He needed to but hand the golden egg to the sorcerer and this would end. Exultant with his expected triumph and reward, he did not see Shadowcat plummeting down at him from above until it was too late. They were both phased, intangible to everything save each other, and Shadowcat's forearm struck the back of Misery's neck soundly. They fell to the earth, and at the very last instant Shadowcat forced Misery to go tangible. Bone crunched loudly when the hit hit; Misery's head lolled in an awkward angle, and the golden egg spilled from his spasming hands. Shadowcat rolled forward and swiped it up from the snow as Misery tried to rise, his vertebrae loudly knitting itself back together; it would take more than a broken neck to kill him.

The sight of this was too much for Koschei – his mortality, in the hands of the woman who had all ready cost him so much. Howling incoherently he dismissed his shield and launched a forking bolt of chaos lightning at her, pouring into the spell all his malice and hate. Even with the protection of his death, he knew she would not survive this assault. Let all else burn – he would see his enemy in hell before he went himself.

Shadowcat had seen Koschei begin his spell the moment she hit the ground. By the time she was on her feet with his death in hand the lightning bolt was halfway to her. She could not dodge it, and knew instinctively phasing would not save her from this sorcerous death. She had no time to throw her prize to a teammate, or curse Koschei, or even try to use the egg to defend herself. She could but close her eyes and wait for the inevitable.

At the periphery of the battlefield, a pair of ebony eyes turned silver, then gold, then blue. A Word of Power boomed, and a gold and crimson blur raced across the snow, interposing itself before Shadowcat. Nikolai screamed as chaos lightning scourged his battle-ravaged body.

Everything stopped – battle, conflict, motion, all went still and silent, and all of reality seemed to focus that moment on Nikolai Black Sun. He stood facing Shadowcat, his back to his father, arms thrown out, head held back, his breath but harsh, shallow gulps, his tattered raiment smoldering. A tremor, nigh imperceptible, ran through his body.

Koschei the Deathless stared at his son in horror, a panicked fear swelling in his withered chest. "Nikolai…" he whispered. Nikolai groaned, falling to his knees. His head bowed, and his gasps began to slow, becoming less violent. Shadowcat stared down at him, not knowing what to do, almost afraid to speak. But where Koschei feared, she hoped. Her hope seemed like a pale, golden light to her - fragile and vulnerable, yet growing stronger with each passing second. She licked her lips, composed her will, and forced herself to speak.

"Peter…"

Nikolai looked up at her. Ocean blue eyes peered out behind his golden mask. Several seconds passed, and they remained blue. What more, they recognized her as they looked upon her in wonder. Shadowcat trembled beneath their steady gaze. Suddenly, the blue eyes darted to the golden egg clenched in her hands, then back up to her face. _Trust me,_ those eyes said silently to her. _Trust me, Katya…_

Shadowcat nodded once and held out Koschei's death in offering. Nikolai snatched it and leapt away, returning to his place at the periphery of the battlefield.

"NO!" roared Wolverine, and charged towards Nikolai. Cyclops aimed at him, raising his hand to his visor. Shadowcat slashed up with her arm in a stopping gesture, projecting her thoughts with all urgency at Frost, who in turn relayed them to the rest of the X-Men. They stopped, trusting the young woman's instincts.

Koschei laughed, almost hysterical with relief. "Excellent, my son! You do your father proud. Now quickly! Bring me my death." Nikolai neither moved nor answered, staying completely still, his back turned away from all. Koschei frowned, his maggot gray tongue darting out to moisten his thin black lips. "Did you not hear me, boy? Obey me now!" In answer, Nikolai lifted his left arm out to one side, and his left hand clenched around the golden egg it held. Koschei choked, his eyes bulging, the all ready thin skin of his face growing taut, threatening to shred off of his skull. One hand clutched at his throat, the other his chest.

"Why did you do it, Koschei?" demanded Nikolai, his voice like a groan rumbling from a sepulcher. "Why did you drag me out of _peklo_? I did not want to come back. I was content, finally at rest. I did not want to return…"

"Nikolai…" Koschei sputtered. His son shook his head violently.

"Do not call me that. That is my father's name."

"_I am your father!_" shrieked Koschei. "Who more so than I? Who has better right? I alone saw the potential in you, the power these mortal fools squandered. I brought you back from a wasted death, wrought you into what you are now – a Prince of the Earth, unrivaled in might, my warlord and heir. You ungrateful wretch… who else has better right to claim you as his son?"

"**_NO!_**" Nikolai roared, spinning to face Koschei, his eyes blazing a white-hot gold. He brandished Koschei's death, and the undead sorcerer screamed, being thrown up off his feet and sent crashing. Trembling, blackened blood dribbling from one corner of his mouth, Koschei sat up, using the _Drakhon_ _Key _as a crutch to rise up on a knee, then painfully to his feet. "My father," said Nikolai, "was Nikolai Rasputin. My mother was Alexandria. How they must weep, seeing what their son has become. No, Koschei, you are not my father. You are naught but a monster – the same sort of monster I spent my entire adult life fighting. And now I shall deal with you in the manner all monsters deserve." He tensed, then leapt into the air, arcing gracefully and descending, sword held in guard, his left arm thrown back, ready to strike. Koschei screamed in incoherent fear and threw all his magical might behind a last desperate barrage of lightning. His nemesis struck it aside disdainfully, landed before him and struck the golden egg against his forehead, Koschei's death exploding into a thousand glistening motes. Koschei screamed again, a howl of rage, agony, and despair that would echo throughout Siberia and across the width and breadth of all of Russia. The sorcerer spun away shrieking, weeping fire, vomiting lightning. Suddenly he shuddered violently, once, stiffened straight as an iron rod, hands curling into claws, and fell on his back. His agate eyes sunk into his sockets, his clothing moldered into corruption. His skin peeled away and his bones crumbled into powder. A soft wind blew from the east, carrying away this dust. A black stain on the snow and the _Drakhon Key_ was all that remained of great Koschei the Deathless.

He stared for a moment at the place where his former master perished. Then Piotr Rasputin sighed, sheathing his sword with a practiced motion. His eyes had softened a little, but still remained golden. He looked about at the carnage surrounding him, sighed again, and addressed the _druzina_. "I am your master now."

Solovey Razboynik shook his head like a man awakening from a dream. "What makes you think so, oh Prince of the Earth?"

"By right of primogeniture, by right of usurpation, and by right of my raw power I claim mastery of you all. Think any of you, or even all of you combined, can defeat me here and now?" Solovey and his comrades took stock of their situation. Danila Volkevich had padded over to Piotr and stood by his side, reverting back to his human form. His eyes were no longer silver, but now their natural wolfen gold. Behind them the X-Men had regrouped, watchful and alert. They were inhuman, bestial, and cruel, these disparate mercenaries who had served beneath the banner of Koschei, but none amongst them were fools. "Very well," said Solovey. "We submit to your authority. What is your command, Lord Black Sun?"

"I have but two… first you will forswear all vengeance and vendetta against these heroes who have opposed you."

"Done. What else is your will?"

"That you return to the lands of your birth, be it the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom or the Void of Chaos, and remain there for a year and a day. At the end of that time, I release you from your oaths of fealty. On that day you are free to pursue whatever cause you desire, save for what I have just proscribed. Do you understand me, oh hated _druzina_?" They looked amongst themselves, then faced their liege. "We understand perfectly, oh accursed Black Sun," whispered Solovey.

"Then obey… _now_." Misery closed his eyes, shivered once, and faded into nothingness. Vultariax reared back his head, let loose a scream, and launched into the air, flying high into the sky, diminishing from sight. Myedveyd Tsar grumbled, turned away, and loped to the trees in the east, vanishing amongst them. Solovey Razboynik lingered. His black eyes stared menacingly at the X-Men, then on Danila. He sheathed his saber and looked directly into Piotr's fathomless golden eyes. "I will remember this, Prince of the Earth."

"What you choose to remember is of no concern to me," answered Piotr.

"Nevertheless, I will remember." Solovey exploded into a flock of black nightingales. They spiraled into the air and flew west, crying out a raucous song of hate.

Piotr sighed, then looked at Danila. "You are free too, little brother. It is time for you to go."

Danila shook his head. "No. My place is with you."

"But there is no place for me." He placed his hands gently on Danila's shoulders. "The world here, from the mortal realms to the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom and all that lies between, is meant for you and those like you. Those who live."

"You live too, Elder Brother."

"No. I am but a ghost, wrapped in a shroud of bone and dust." Danila stared hard at Piotr, tears welling in his eyes. He swiped angrily at them with his forearm and seized Piotr in a fierce embrace. Piotr returned it, then gently pushed him away. "Go, Danila, with my love. Live." Danila nodded once. He turned and ran south, past the X-Men, transforming from man to wolfen to great black wolf as he went. He entered the forest and was gone.

Piotr bowed his head and closed his eyes. He unhooked his sword and poniard from his belt and cast them to the ground.

"Peter?" asked Shadowcat, wondering. She had not heard the whispered Russian words between Piotr and Danila, but after witnessing their parting she found herself afraid.

Piotr did not answer. He removed his skullcap, tossing it with his weapons, pulled back his hood and took off his mask, breaking it in half and hurling the pieces away. He looked up at the X-Men and smiled. But his smile was sad and weary, and his now blue eyes gleamed with regret. He looked at each of the X-Men in turn, saving Shadowcat for last and gazing upon her the longest. He inhaled deeply and nodded once. "Farewell, my dear friends." A column of golden fire spiraled to life behind him.

"Peter! _No!_" Kitty Pryde screamed. Piotr Rasputin did not hear her. He stepped into the inferno and vanished.

* * *

Comments to come with the final chapter. Thank you to all who have stuck with me for the past two and a half years. 

Cheers,

Jeremy Harper


	16. Chapter 14 To Live

Deathless

By

Jeremy Harper

Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

For Lia Fail, my sweet Lia, for believing in me. And for OldPrydeFan, who knows me now, and who inspired me to start this monster.

Chapter 14 – To Live

It took him a while to find it, for he could not precisely recall where it was. His mind contained the shattered memories of two lives, struggling to reconstruct themselves, the shards fitting back together like pieces of an ill-cut jigsaw. But eventually he remembered, and found what he wanted – a lonely headstone in a lonely graveyard.

Peter Rasputin kneeled before the grave of his parents. He touched the granite with a gauntleted hand, tracing the flow of Cyrillic scrip. A shiver poured through him as coldness sharper than that of the Siberian autumn bit at his flesh. Grimacing he gripped the top of the headstone and bowed his head. "Mother…" he whispered. "Father… I'm sorry… so sorry." He shut his eyes tight, wishing he could cry. But what need did the dead have for tears? Tears were for the living, for their own comfort and healing. Nikolai and Alexandria Rasputin were dead, and their youngest son was worse than dead… he was _zalozhiny_… unhallowed.

Peter kneeled for a time, contemplating bitterly the ruin of his life, then rose, scanning the sky. They would be coming soon. _She_ would be coming… and he did not want to treat with them here, and he still had much to do. Koschei's legacy must be dealt with, before he took his final rest. He covered his face with a hand, wishing he could visit Illyana, but complete command of the hellgate was something Koschei had not taught him. The improvisation of diverting it to Ust-Ordynski had almost totally drained what little strength he had left. Forcing it to the Xavier Mansion was beyond his scope. As Nikolai Black Sun he never questioned this gap in his lore before, but now recognized it for what it was – another method of control to insure his dependence on Koschei.

"All for naught, sorcerer…" Peter whispered. He took his hand away, let it clench into a fist as bitterness, shame and hate flooded mind and soul. "All for naught…" Peter let out a breath. The hellfire gate sprang to life before him, and unflinching he stepped through.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, Kitty?" Scott asked quietly. Kitty nodded. 

"But by yourself? That could be dangerous." Hank remonstrated.

"No. There's no danger. What he did back on the Siberian Plateau is proof that he won't hurt me." She grimaced. "At least not physically." Scott was about to speak again, but Kitty cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "No more arguments. We've been discussing this ever since we got on the Blackbird and found out where Peter teleported to. I know that you're just trying to protect me, but I'm a grown woman. I can do this by myself. Koschei's death doesn't finish this. I… we need to know what Peter intends to do now."

The five X-Men were gathered at the shores of Lake Baikal, at the location of the hidden entrance to Koschei's Hall Danila Volkevich had shown them a scant two days before. The moment after Peter had vanished in a blast of golden fire they had raced to the Blackbird to determine his location. First he manifested at Ust-Ordynski, then teleported to the Hall. After some brief, indeterminable actions there, he had not moved in hours.

Scott frowned, then tried again. "You're right, Kitty. We need to know what's going on with Peter. And you're also right about the odds of him attacking you. But Koschei may have left some defenses down his lair, and we have no way of knowing if Peter has shut them off. It's better if we all go with you, to give you support." Kitty shook her head again. Scott scowled, and was about to continue when Emma interjected.

"Scott, please. Her mind is made up, and she's not going to change it in the face of any argument. She wants to do this alone." Emma frowned and looked down at her boots. "You, of all people, should understand why."

Scott looked at Emma steadily, then looked back at Kitty, his disciplinary scowl softened to a concerned frown. "I don't like this."

"Me either," growled Hank.

"I know guys. I… don't like it much either. But…" she shook her head, then smiled gently at Scott and Hank. "Thank you for caring, guys." She then looked at Emma. "And thank you, too." To her surprise, the words did not stick in her throat.

Emma just snorted. "I'm just assuming my usual role of being the practical one in this menagerie of dreamers, Miss Pryde. God knows you lot need all the common sense you can get." She wrapped her arms around herself and chaffed her arms. "Besides which, it is cold out here and the sooner we finish this the sooner we can return to warmth and civilization."

Kitty laughed softly. "There's an obvious remedy to that problem, Miss Frost," she answered, eyeing Emma's scanty white uniform. She turned to Logan. "Do you have anything you want to say?"

"No. I know how stubborn you are, and I also know you don't need anyone to hold your hand, pun'kin."

Kitty looked away from Logan, staring out over the azure expanse of Lake Baikal. "I'm scared, Logan," she whispered.

"Like I told you, life is scary. There's no question about that. The question is how you deal with it, whether you let fear rule your life, or face up to it and live as best you can."

Kitty smiled sadly, tears prickling in her golden brown eyes. "Peter also said something like that to me, long ago, on Muir."

"Petey was never a fool."

"You're right. Foolish at times maybe, but who here hasn't been? But a true fool… never." Kitty wiped her eyes with the back of her glove and looked around at her teammates one last time. "Here I go…" Taking a deep breath, she shifted out of phase and descended into the Hall of Koschei.

The first thing she noticed, when she phased into open air, was that the dim lights that once illuminated the Hall were extinguished. Kitty had not been sure what to expect beneath the earth, so she had brought an emergency kit from the Blackbird with her. She took out its compact maglight and switched it on, lighting her way. She found herself at the top of a stairway; it descended to a corridor that ran straight away and beyond the range of her light. She followed the path laid before her, neither turning left or right when she came to intersections, always going forward. She had no particular plan in mind to find Peter, willing to trust luck or fate or whatever power that ruled her life to bring her to him. She quickly noticed that the sense of vertigo that had plagued her the last time she walked through the Hall had not returned. Neither did she hear whispers, or feel her skin creep from the sensation of unseen eyes watching her. She did not find this change reassuring - in a way, the implications of this abandonment frightened her more than the ghosts and demons that had once haunted these catacombs ever could have.

After five minutes walking Kitty saw a dim light glowing up ahead. She stopped for a moment, contemplating it, then marched forward with determination. She passed through an ornate archway and entered Koschei's Great Hall, and there, illumined by weirdly wrought brass lanterns that seemed to cast more shadow than light, was Peter. He was at the top of the dais of carved onyx, sitting in Koschei's throne of malachite, his head resting back, his eyes closed. He was dressed entirely in black – black greatcoat, black trousers, black slippers - each article of clothing shimmering with the gloss of fine silk. His long black hair hung unbound, and a band of silver cloth decorated his pallid brow. His skin was as white as driven snow, against which the black tattoos on his face contrasted starkly. He sat motionless, a statue hewed from ivory and jet.

Kitty stared up at Peter, clad in his somber finery, so very silent, very still. He seemed to her like some prince of old set to rest. She clenched her hands hard at that thought, biting down on her lip. Tears prickled and welled in her eyes again, and she shook her head, swallowed hard, took a breath, trying to make it not sound like a sob. She would not cry, not yet. Later perhaps, but she did not have the time now. She had to make sure, once and for all, and not let fear and sorrow make her jump to a hasty conclusion. She took a step towards the dais, then another, her eyes locked on Peter as she forced herself towards him. With each foot closer she drew, the more convinced she became that he was gone, would never move again. She wondered if she would be able to tell how he died, whether he had committed suicide by some unknowable means, or if the punishment he had suffered at the claws of Gorynytch and the sorcery of Koschei had been too much for even his incredible endurance to overcome. Kitty tried to stop this line of thought, compartmentalize it away, but could not. She felt herself trembling, as if fever struck. She set foot on the first step of the dais and began to climb, and with each step she ascended she felt the scream gestating inside grow a little longer, a little louder. _When I am finally at the top, _she thought, _standing before him and looking into his face, I will scream. I will scream because my heart will have finally died, irrevocably slain, and I will never be whole again. Losing him once was almost more than I could bear. Peter… oh Peter…_

By the penultimate step she was crying, unable to check her grief. She halted, nearly stumbling, and violently scrubbed the tears off her face and out of her eyes. She gazed blearily at Peter for a moment, then stepped onto the top of the dais and walked to him, coming so close to him her knees were nearly touching his. _I will look into his face now and see that he is gone. Then I will scream. _She leaned towards him.

Peter's eyes opened.

Kitty gasped, heels of her hands leaping to her mouth. Shadows and light whirled around her as all her breath left her lungs and her knees buckled. Kitty fell, and she then heard a whisper like the sigh of distant wind. She stopped falling, and Peter's face was close to hers. Her senses cleared, and she regained her coherence. He was half raised from his throne, his left arm hooked around her shoulders. He had caught her as she was falling.

Golden-brown eyes, filled with tears and wonderment, started into ineffably tired eyes of azure-blue. "Peter…" she murmured.

His eyes became unfocused for a moment, as if he were recalling a memory buried deep. "Yes," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes," he repeated, a little louder. "That is my name… my true name. I remember it now, at last." He blinked, and his eyes focused on Kitty. "I knew you would come, Katya. I had hoped that you would not, but I knew that you would." He raised his right hand to her face, his fingers hovering over her cheek. "You have been crying. I am sorry for that. You should not cry for me, Katya. I am not worth tears."

Strength returned to Kitty. She took hold of Peter's sleeve, straightening herself. "You're wrong, Peter," she said quietly, her voice hoarse. She swallowed to clear it. "You told me that once before. You were wrong then, and you're wrong now. You are worth tears. You will always be worth tears…" She phased and stepped backwards, slipping out of his hold. Peter held his position for a moment, then his left hand closed and he settled back down in the throne, watching Kitty with half-closed eyes. Kitty stared back, wondering what to say to him next, but unable to find the words.

The silence between them stretched for a time, before Peter finally broke it. "How did you find me, you and the others, out there on the Plateau? For that matter, how did they find the Hall?"

Kitty took a breath before answering. This was a question she had not expected, but at least it was a beginning. "When we captured you in San Francisco, we weren't certain of how long we could hold you, so Hank took the precaution of implanting a tracking device in your side."

The focus of Peter's gaze seemed to turn inward, and he pressed his hand against his left side. "Ah," he murmured. "So simple, yet beyond the reckoning of Koschei. Beyond mine too. Technology of this sort was alien to us." He shook his head. "Perhaps if he had not so thoroughly buried my true self, I could have perceived it." He chuckled bitterly. "But in that case, I may have not been as tractable a pawn, eh?"

"Why did you run from us, Peter?" Kitty demanded. "After what happened, why did you run from _me_?"

"I did not run from you, Katya. I needed to finish what I started when I slew Koschei, and in order to do so I had to return to the only place on Earth now fit for me."

A dread more terrible than what she felt when she first saw Peter upon Koschei's throne clutched at Kitty. "What do you mean by that?"

"Koschei is gone, but he has left much behind that could be a danger to the world. It needed to be dealt with, and so I have. His librams, his chambers, his treasury and his armory – all these I have sealed with the power I command. As Koschei's heir my will within these Halls is paramount, and cannot be overthrown. The servants I have dismissed, much as did with the _druzhina_. _Zalozhiny_ and _kholop_, all have gone to what ever rest they can find. The Halls are now empty of all ghosts and demons." He leaned back in the throne, resting his head against the back and closing his eyes. "All but one."

"Peter…"

"I am ghost, Katya. Let this place be my tomb."

"NO!" Kitty shouted at him, her eyes bright with fear, her face flushing with anger. "How can you even think that? Damn you, after all we've been through, fighting against you, fighting _for_ you, working our hardest to free you from Koschei, how can you even think of doing such a thing?"

Peter shook his head. "You do not understand, Katya."

"I understand perfectly. You're a coward, Peter. You're giving up again, just like you did before when you took the Legacy cure!"

Peter's eyes snapped open; they were blazing pools of gold. His tattoos shimmered and ignited. He slapped his hand down on the armrest of his throne, the impact of the heel of his palm cracking the magically wrought and fortified malachite. "ENOUGH!" he roared, his voice booming through the hall like a cannon blast, and Kitty, hands clasped over her ears, reeled back as if she had been punched. She blinked through tears of pain and saw that Peter had stood, his arms held out from his sides, his black clad form wreathed in a nimbus of golden hell fire, comely and terrible, like a demon prince called from Hell and aroused to wrath. "Do you not yet perceive, Katya," he hissed, "that the being standing before you is not the man you once knew?" He brandished a hand, clenching it violently into a fist. "Koschei _changed_ me, Katya – mind, body and soul. This isn't the substance of a mortal man. My flesh is dust, my muscle stone, my bones steel, and my blood venom. My soul has been blackened, stained by cosmic crimes and a terrible destiny. And my mind, my memory… it is shattered. My thoughts move in alien ways…" he took a deep, shuddering breath, letting his arms drop. The shroud of fire abated, but did not quench, and his eyes remained molten gold. "I am not human anymore, Katya. I am _zalozhiny_… one of the unhallowed dead. Let the dead be… it is safer that way, for all concerned."

Kitty stared at Peter, her complexion pale, her mouth slightly parted. A fresh tear ran down her cheek; she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She started to speak, paused as the words refused to leave her, then tried again. "For most of what you said, Peter, I don't know how to answer it. But for your flesh being dust, how does that make you different from any other man on earth?" Peter did not answer. The hell fire had now banked, his tattoos shining bright gold. His golden eyes seemed to soften. "You say Koschei changed you, Peter. I cannot deny that, at least not when it comes to your body. But your heart he couldn't touch. Bury it, yes – trap you in a prison of amnesia and conditioning, but its purity is something that even a sorcerer of his power could never corrupt. I saw that when you were Nikolai, in the way you acted, in the way you treated Danila and me. And on the Plateau, when you looked up at me after Koschei scourged you and I looked into your eyes, that despite all you have been through and the chains you had to wrench yourself free of, you were still the same Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin I cared for all these years… my dear and best friend."

Peter shook his head. "It… it feels good to know you feel that way about me, and that you had such trust, but you still don't understand. In the years that I was his heir, Koschei twisted me, turned me into an exact opposite of what I once was. He needed a weapon, and he forged me into one that well suited him. I am the _Black Sun_, Katya - the Doom of Mortal Men, Deathless and Eternal. That is what he made me, and it is what I remain. You cannot understand what it is like…"

Kitty smiled sadly and stared at Peter in silence. Peter blinked, his stern demeanor becoming one of perplexity.

"_Ogun,_" whispered Kitty.

Peter's tattoos darkened to jet, his eyes deepened to azure blue. That one terrible name, spoken softly, extinguished the last of his wrath. "Katya…" he murmured. "I…"

Kitty shook her head. "It's not exactly the same, I know. Hell, far from it. Ogun was nowhere near as ambitious as Koschei, and he didn't invest in me power of a scale anywhere close to yours. But being turned into a weapon against your will? I'm very familiar with that." She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She felt so cold, and very tired. "Life is hard. You're one of the people who taught me that, Peter. But you also taught me that it is worth living, despite the difficulties. I know that to be true." She turned away from him, head bowed. "You have a second chance. I can't make you take it if you don't want to. I know how tired you are, and how you must be hurting. I honestly don't know what I'd do in your place. But Peter… I believe in you. I trust you. I wouldn't have fought and struggled the way I have if I did not." She began to descend the dais.

"Katya…" Peter called out. She paused and looked back. Peter had reached out with his right hand, his face taut with emotion. The shadow play of the lamps made his eyes lambent sapphires. He stared down at her, his mouth opening and closing as he sought the means to express himself. Suddenly he shivered. His opened hand clenched, his eyes shut, and he dropped to his knees, bracing his hands against polished onyx to keep from collapsing completely.

Kitty raced back to the top of the dais, kneeling down by Peter, reaching out to help him in whatever manner she could. "Peter! Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

Peter shook his head and raised a hand to cut her off. "No, don't apologize. You did, you said, what you believed. There is no fault in that. This is but a momentary weakness; it will pass." He looked down at his hands, then out into the gloom of the Hall. "It is peaceful, to be one with the dark. It embraces you in a gentle lassitude, in which all burdens and cares are forgotten." He sighed and shook his head again. "Yet, despite that, I do not think I am one for the dark. Not yet." Kitty said nothing. She knelt in silence, watching Peter as he thought. He sighed a third time and looked at her, a sad, half-bitter smile on his lips. "I am a fool, Katya." Kitty bit her lip, to keep from objecting. "That much about me has not changed. But I am not so much a fool to throw away your trust and your friendship. For you, Katya, I will return to the mortal world and try to live again."

"It can't be just for me, Peter," she said earnestly. "You can't live just for me. It has to be because you want to live for yourself."

Peter looked away. "Do not ask for what is beyond my strength." He covered his eyes with a hand. "One day, perhaps, I will find that strength. But not now."

Kitty looked at him closely, then nodded. "All right." _And if I can, I'll help you find your strength again_. Laboriously, Peter rose. Kitty took his arm to help him.

* * *

Logan canted his head. "I hear someone coming towards us, moving beneath the ground." 

Hank's nose wrinkled. "I do, too."

"Can you tell who it is, how many?" asked Scott.

"No," answered Logan. "I can just make out movement – that's all." Hank nodded in agreement. Scott looked over at Emma. She shook her head.

"The Hall's nature is still blocking my telepathy. I don't know who it is."

Scott nodded, accepting these reports, and started at the spot in the earth Kitty had phased through, his fists clenching and unclenching as he waited for the news of the final fate of his student and friend.

* * *

"Katya?" 

"Yes, Peter?"

"…I am afraid."

"Don't be…"

* * *

The ground by Lake Baikal shuddered, and a gate in the earth yawned open, revealing polished stone steps. Up from these steps emerged Kitty Pryde, and behind her, moving slowly, almost reluctantly, was Peter Rasputin. He had changed out of his funerary black, and into an outfit a practical, rustic nature – white peasant's shirt, durable brown trousers, sturdy leather boots. A sheathed dagger depended from his broad leather belt, and in his right hand he carried a leather satchel. The X-Men stared at him, in disbelief and wonder. He climbed the final step, and the gate grumbled shut behind him. He stood before them, blinking in the sunlight, looking around at the wilderness surrounding him as if this was the first time he had ever been outdoors, his expression one of almost awe. He then looked at his friends, and smiled at them shyly. 

"Hello my friends," he murmured. "I am back."

* * *

Author's Note

According to my best reckoning, it has been two years, eight months since I started this story. I've written almost one hundred thousand words, and in the process made the acquaintance of some very interesting people, including the love of my life.

Needless to say, I'm bushed. I'm not going to write much in explanatory notes here – _Deathless_ will stand or fall on its own merits, and anything I say won't have much effect on that. I may delve deeper into my thoughts on this novel over at the Kiotr Live Journal site. It can be found at http://community. . If you have any questions for me, or are interested in anything Colossus or Shadowcat related, it's a great place to hang out. We're all friendly there, and promise not to bite.

Some thank yous are in order.

First, thank you to Lia Fail, my past partner in crime in writing, and who became the love of my life. You're the best thing ever to happen to me, sweetheart.

Thanks to OldPrydeFan, who's _Paper Flowers_ got me interested in writing fan fiction again. I wish I knew you better, OPF, and I hope one day you'll find the energy to continue with _Paper Flowers. _But even if you never do, thank you for inspiring me.

Thanks to Kirayoshi, a fine writer in his own right, for being the first to comment on _Deathless_ all that time ago, back when I was very frustrated with the lack of response to it, and staying patient enough to see it to the end.

Thanks to Amokitty, for her endless enthusiasm for all things Peter and Kitty related. She truly is a gem of a person.

Thanks to Madripoor Rose and Xakko, for their enthusiasm for _Deathless_ and for flattering me for listing me as an influence and inspiration for their own writings.

Thanks also to Joss Whedon, not that he probably would give a damn for some amateur's piece of fan fiction or thanks. I'm not the biggest fan of his works, but I think his Astonishing X-Men is very good, and if it wasn't for him writing it, I'd never had gotten interested in X-Men again. I don't like to think much about that.

And finally thanks to everyone who's read this, whether they've commented or not. I hope you've gotten enjoyment out of this story.

Take care of yourselves,

Jeremy Harper


End file.
